


Pride and Prejudice and Leprechauns

by Refictionista



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austen
Genre: F/M, HP GetLucky Fest, Leprechauns, Mildly Dubious Consent, Pride and Prejudice References
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-18
Updated: 2017-06-16
Packaged: 2018-05-27 07:21:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 17
Words: 23,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6275038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Refictionista/pseuds/Refictionista
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>By Jane Austen and Refictionista</p><p>Miss Hermione Granger and the Honorable Mr. Draco Malfoy, son of Lord Malfoy, never got along. Yet, they must work together to end the illegal trade in cursed four leaf clovers. Their investigation of the mystery leads them to discover that sometimes the last person on earth you want to be with... is the one person you can't be without.</p><p>WARNING: characters are bewitched by "lucky gold coins" and subsequently have otherwise undesired sex under their influence.</p><p>Written for the 2016 <a href="http://hp-getlucky.livejournal.com/">HP GetLucky Fest</a>. Prompt #75 was <i>bitter rivals (who also happen to have amazing sexual chemistry) must work together to end the illegal trade in cursed four leaf clovers</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Book Cover

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cover art by [boaillustration](http://boaillustration.tumblr.com). She’s an exceptionally talented artist who previously drew [Harry in an Auror dress uniform](http://boaillustration.tumblr.com/post/158822344785/i-read-a-lot-of-auror-case-fic-recently-and-wanted), which (after squealing in delight) I realized resembled something from the Regency era. I immediately thought of Draco from my fic, and so I sought her out to do this commission.


	2. Book Cover

It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a young wizard and scion of a pure bloodline, must be in want of an equally well bred wife.

However little known the proclivity towards marriage for one particular such wizard, this truth was so well fixed in the mind of his mother that the young man found it necessary to move out of his family manor entirely.

“My dear Lucius,” said Lady Malfoy to her husband one day in the morning parlor, “have you heard that our son has carried through with his threat to vacate our home at last?”

Lord Malfoy replied that he had not.

“Well, he has,” she continued, “for I found the house elves moving the last of his trunks and they told me all about his leaving.”

Lord Malfoy made no answer.

“Do you know where our only son has taken lodgings?” cried his wife impatiently.

 _“You_ want to tell me, and I have no objection to hearing it.”

This was invitation enough.

“Why, my dear, you must know that Draco has stated that his focus must be on his work, _his work I tell you,_ and that he has no time to involve himself in my matchmaking schemes. He said that if I persisted in my endeavors that he would take his possessions and get his own flat. Which he has done!”

“Where is this flat?”

“Diagon Alley, or so our house elves have told me.”

“The more fashionable side of Diagon Alley, of this we can be certain.”

“Of course it is, my dear, to be sure! At least, we can only hope. A single wizard of good breeding shouldn’t be seen anywhere else!”

“Yet, you’re in such a ruffled state.”

“My dear Lucius,” replied his wife, “how can you be so tiresome? You must know that he must marry a witch, one of these days, and his moving out of the manor is clearly in an attempt to remain a _bachelor.”_

“Draco will marry when he feels it is the right time to do so.”

“The right time! Nonsense, how can you talk so? I have information that he plans to attend yet another ball _without_ escorting a witch. How is he to marry if he persists in behaving thusly? I fear that it is very likely that he may become too absorbed in his career to carry on his familial duty, and therefore you must visit him as soon as possible.”

“I see no occasion for that. I daresay Draco will come home for Sunday dinner to see us; however, I will owl a few lines to remind him not to forsake his mother and her tiresome arbitrations for grandchildren.”

“Husband, you take delight in vexing me. You have no compassion for my poor nerves.”

“You mistake me, my dear. I have a high respect for your nerves. They are my old friends. I heard you mention them with consideration during the war.”

“Ah, you still do not know how I suffered when the Dark Lord was here in our house.” Lady Malfoy began to fan herself with an embroidered handkerchief.

“But I hope you will get over it and remember how Draco suffered the most in our home when that half-blooded pretender was here. Perhaps those memories are the reason he left.”

His wife threw down the handkerchief, her vapors forgotten. “I already told you that he wants to focus on his work. He _works,_ Lucius. At a _job._ The first Malfoy to do so in at least seven generations.”

Lord Malfoy blinked at his wife, having just concluded a moment earlier that he should retire to his study to catch up with his work on the estate’s accounts.

“My dear,” he said, standing as he pinched the bridge of his nose, “I feel I should go visit Draco immediately.” Lucius bowed to his wife and took his leave.

Lady Malfoy smiled to herself, happy that her husband saw things her way.


	3. The Honorable Draco Malfoy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Numbers in [brackets] denote footnotes, which you will find at the end of the chapter.

The Honorable Draco Malfoy was among the most cunning of those Slytherins who circumvented an undesirable prison stay in Azkaban after the Second Great Wizarding War. He had always intended to come out on the winning side, though his family had held fast to the Dark Lord until it was almost too late.

It was his mother, and not his father, who was responsible for their Machiavellian change of allegiance during the final battle. All they had done was wiped clean when Lady Malfoy had courageously saved the life of _the_ Harry Potter, savior of the Wizarding World, during a pivotal moment of the final battle. Draco was grateful she had shown such great cunning; however, his mother had lost all sense when it came to seeing her only child married.

Lady Narcissa Malfoy had lost her acute sense of forward thinking, or so it seemed to Draco.

Conversely, he and his father had returned to the long view, and together they had vowed to bring respect and dignity back to the Malfoy family name.

For Lord Lucius Malfoy II, the long view meant keeping his head down, focusing on the affairs of the Malfoy Estate, and seeing to it that their Gringotts accounts increased from _respectable_ incomes, such as the Malfoy Apothecary. Once his house arrest was lifted, Lord Malfoy spent a great deal of time expanding such businesses to become more profitable than ever.

It was important to bring the same publicly perceived respectability back to those businesses. Among the apothecary’s products was Superior Red, a brand of red wine matured for a thousand years.[1] Lord Malfoy had donated an entire case to a charity auction benefiting the war orphans. He had done so anonymously, knowing that even the simplest of reporters would figure out where such a substantial contribution had come from.

The _Daily Prophet_ hadn’t disappointed.

Still, the main burden of social rehabilitation was on Draco’s shoulders. His was a task that could not be solved by Galleons or staying out of sight. It was Draco’s responsibility to show that the Malfoy family could be of good stock and, even better, the epitome of good character.

A challenging, if not near impossible, undertaking. Nevertheless, no Malfoy had ever failed before and Draco swore he would be no different.

His immediate plan had been twofold. First, he had decided to become an Auror. That choice alone led to a journey with monumental hurdles to overcome.

Being an Auror was a difficult career path, as their office only took the very best. Draco easily possessed some of the primary requirements to qualify as an Auror applicant. He had Outstandings in every class he ever took, with the exception of several _understandable_ Exceeds Expectations during his sixth year. He had N.E.W.T.s from all subjects his seventh year, of course. His aptitude test exam scores were practically off the charts, and he was an accomplished duelist.

Draco had thought that the stringent series of character tests would be his toughest problem.

They hadn’t.

That had been Mr. Ronald Weasley, a former school adversary of Draco’s.

The character tests showed that Draco was a natural leader who strove for perfection. That he was objective, independent, quick-thinking, and adaptable. He was also shown to be rather pessimistic, but he had always tended to compensate for that with an aura of definite self-confidence.

The youngest Weasley male dismissed all of that.

Ron first heard from Harry, another Auror applicant, that Draco had applied. The redhead stormed the Ministry offices, demanding to see the Acting Minister of Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt, himself. Fortunately, M.M. Shacklebolt had been a Slytherin and was able to dismiss the schoolboy rivalry accusations and complaints from Ron. Instead, the Minister calmly explained that it would be of great benefit for the Aurors to have a wizard such as the young Malfoy, who had a unique understanding of the Dark Wizards and witches they were going to hunt.

Having overcome Ron’s objections, Draco was grateful to the Minister for the chance to apply. His backup career was to have been to become a humble servant in the Ministry; this would have been just as conducive to his family’s plan but utterly boring. He vowed even more fervently to make it into the Auror’s ranks.

After a thoroughly exhausting application process, his scheme’s opening move was successful. Draco was now a Probationary Auror, same as Harry and Ron.

The second part of Draco’s plan to restore the Malfoy name was, oddly enough, to remain a bachelor. The young Malfoy was a gentleman and the handsome heir of a proud wizarding dynasty. Obviously, a union with him would be a desirable match to any eligible witch, and he very much wanted to remain desirable. As long as young witches felt that they had a chance with him, their ambitious mamas would continue to sing his praises. He had only to show up to events like the Ministry’s many balls without a partner to create the crackle of anticipation and possible social advancement that could be made viable through a connection with him.

True, the girls from his year at Hogwarts were already being snatched up, but he only needed to wait a few years at most to join the rest of his newly married classmates. He thought Daphne Greengrass’s somewhat attractive younger sister might do nicely after she finally completed her schooling, for example. However, he needed to remain seemingly attainable yet unattached until then.

Unfortunately, this was easier said than done when his own mother was pushing him towards matrimony.

It was at this moment that Draco’s father, Lord Malfoy, arrived via Floo. Having just dealt with his own wife, Lord Malfoy observed that his son may have chosen wisely to move out of the manor.

“Good morning Father, what brings you here?”

Ignoring his son for the moment, Lord Malfoy’s wandering gaze fell upon the Tantalus set against the opposite wall. He immediately went to the traveling room’s ornate cellarette and took out a decanter, then poured himself a generous glass of firewhiskey.

“Your mother has noticed your absence at the manor. She has prevailed upon me to convince you to come back.”

“To subject myself to her matchmaking schemes, I suppose.”

“Most assuredly,” said Lord Malfoy, at once refilling his glass. “Also, I come with a word of warning. She will discover where you live at some point, should you not come to visit and often. I myself had only to ask a house-elf your Floo address. The creatures are equally loyal to your mother and will give her the same information without hesitation, should she ask.”

This disturbed Draco. Perhaps getting his own flat in Diagon Alley wasn’t enough. Unfortunately, he couldn’t leave Britain, so that left no location that gave any further distance between mother and son. Unless, perhaps, he chose to take lodgings in the non-magical side of London.

Not that Draco would ever consent to live near or amongst Muggles. After all, just because he wanted to show that he was reformed did not mean that he needed to live near those filthy masses.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] from http://harrypotter.wikia.com/wiki/Malfoy_Apothecary


	4. Miss Hermione Granger

Within a short walk from Diagon Alley in that non-magical part of London lived a lovely young witch who was intimately familiar with non-magical folk. Miss Hermione Granger, a Muggle-born and decorated heroine of the Second Great Wizarding War, had formerly been one of the top caseworkers in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures at the Ministry of Magic. After furthering the cause for the better treatment of house elves during her initial years of employment, she returned to her first passion.

Research.

Hermione currently worked as a Special Investigator assigned from the Ministry Archives. She was the liaison between the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures and the even larger Department of Magical Law Enforcement. As a testament to being the brightest witch of her generation, she was the only female with a cubicle in Auror Headquarters, situated there so she could assist the Aurors and Hit Wizards with background information for their cases.

She was also the one slight problem with Draco Malfoy’s plan to remain the wizarding world’s most eligible bachelor.

Though it was inevitable that they discover this fact, neither of them knew this. They each went about, entirely ignorant of what the future would hold for them.

“My dear Harry,” said Hermione one day in a familiar tone of sisterly affection, “what is this latest case that has caused such a stir?”

“What makes you think there is a new case?” asked Harry.

“Truly, Harry” interrupted Ron, “you above others should remember that our best friend is a witch of singular intelligence.” He gave Hermione a wink, which caused her to blush.

“Indeed,” replied Hermione, “for I am not wanting in perceptiveness. I have noticed this past three hours the quiet whisperings from Auror to Auror.”

Harry sighed. “I confess I was going to bring this to your attention later today. There has been a disturbing new trade lately in Knockturn Alley. We have run into several cases involving cursed four-leaf clovers.”

“How is this?” asked Hermione. “Four-leaf clovers can be charmed, but never have I heard of one being cursed. Such a thing should not be possible.”

“We believe it to be the deranged work of an unstable or rogue leprechaun, possibly in league with Dark Wizards,” said Harry, handing Hermione a ribbon-bound parchment. “We could use your insight and connections within the magical creatures community to figure out the culprit’s motives. Here is your authorization to work on the case.”

“My understanding is that leprechauns are the most mischievous of the fair folk, but I have never known their antics to be malicious or illegal in nature,” said Hermione, accepting the parchment.

“My guess is that one of the little blighters got bored,” joked Ron. “You know what their kind is like.”

Hermione frowned at him.

Harry coughed. “Hermione, your contacts would be useful to this case. I’m assigning you to assist Ron, the lead investigator.”

“I thought Auror Malfoy specialized in those cases involving the fair folk,” said Hermione.

A dark look passed over Ron’s features, but was gone before Hermione could decipher it. She vaguely remembered something about Draco involving Ron in some scandal—specifics were never given—in which Ron’s career advancement had been badly damaged.

“He usually does,” said Harry slowly, “but Ron and I agree that if you are working on the case, then perhaps someone less inclined to pure-blooded partiality would be better suited as the lead investigator on the team.”

“I’m honored that you want me on the case, but I had no idea Auror Malfoy kept the prejudices against Muggle-borns. He’s never said boo to me since we’ve worked at the Auror office.”

“He minds his P’s and Q’s here,” said Ron. “I put up enough of a fuss that he’ll be let go with one wrong move on his part. It’s only a matter of time.” Ron smiled. “Plus, wouldn’t you rather work with me?” he asked with a wink.

Hermione blushed yet again.

“Of course, Ron,” she replied. He smiled genially in return at her.

“Good,” said Harry. He handed copies of a thick dossier bound in red Spello-tape to Hermione and Ron. “Here are all the details we have so far on the four-leaf clovers and their effects on the victims.”

Hermione tapped her wand against the tape and the parchments flew from the file pocket and arranged themselves neatly on her desk. Harry gave them a nod and a stiff little bow, then left the two of them to familiarize themselves with the investigation thus far.

Ron took one look at the tidy stacks of documents arranged on Hermione’s desk and ran a hand through his red hair, thereby giving himself a youthful and mischievous look. He skimmed quickly over the parchments, furrowing his brow and letting out a huff. Ron turned to Hermione and gave her a most charming smile and then rubbed his eyes.

“Let’s give ourselves an hour to review the files, then why don’t we go get some lunch and discuss the case. However, with the ball being held tomorrow, we might want to cut our day short and leave for the day from there.”

Hermione smiled forcefully; she wasn’t keen to the idea of cutting out of work early. Yet, Ron did have a point. There was much to do before the biggest ball of the year, which was taking place less than a day away.

“All right,” she said. “That sounds like an excellent plan.”


	5. The Victory Celebration Ball

Hermione loved balls. Ever since her roommate at Hogwarts, Miss Pavarti Patil, had shown her the wonders of using liberal amounts of Sleekeazy's Hair Potion before the Yule Ball their fourth year, she had no reason to abhor them. The hair care potion was too troublesome for everyday use, but to look like a proper lady for an evening once in awhile was quite a treat.

The Ministry’s Annual Victory Celebration Ball was a glittering event. It was _the_ event, and Hermione was overjoyed to be an honored participant at the festivities. Everywhere she looked, she saw something that made the evening special in the ways that only magic could make happen. After the obligatory speeches, Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes provided the Wildfired Whizz-Bangs, and Hermione thought that they were wonderful fireworks.

The celebration continued into the evening as the attendees moved into the main atrium of the Ministry building. Enthusiastic witches and wizards danced in beautifully choreographed movements across the floor. Ron asked Hermione for the first dance, and they talked and laughed in the most pleasant manner.

He had yet to compliment her on her hair or her new gown, or offer any compliment for that matter, but she was certain he would follow proper etiquette at some point. She knew that would have to come later, as there were more witches than wizards on the dance floor, and Ron felt obliged to ask another young witch to dance. She saw him hold out his hand to Miss Lavender Brown. Hermione therefore passed the time in a lively and dreamlike conversation with Miss Luna Lovegood.

Then, a hush settled over the crowds and the music died down.

A small party had entered the assembly room. It consisted of only five altogether: Draco Malfoy, his parents, and his good friends Blaise Zabini and Pansy Parkinson, who was engaged to Mr. Theodore Nott, already in attendance.

Blaise was good-looking and gentlemanlike; he had a pleasant countenance, and easy, unaffected manners; he immediately locked gazes with Luna and asked to partner with her for the next dance. However, his friend Draco soon drew the attention of the whole room by his fine, tall person and aristocratic features. He wore a beautiful green coat with silver embroidery. Lace gathered at his throat and over his hands. He was cold and masculine, with waves of authority and arrogance emanating from him.

It soon became clear to Hermione that Draco was still the proudest, most disagreeable pureblooded wizard in the world. She had been obliged, by the scarcity of wizards, to sit down for two dances; and during that time, Draco had been standing near enough for her to hear a conversation between him and Blaise, who came from the dance for a few minutes, to press his friend to join it.

“Come, Draco,” said he, “I must have you kick up your heels. I hate to see you standing about by yourself like a goblin after tax season.”

“I certainly shall not. You know how I detest dancing, unless I am particularly acquainted with my partner. At such an assembly as this it would be insupportable. Pansy’s dance card is full, and there is not another witch in the room with whom it would not be a punishment to me to stand up with.”

“Upon my honor!” cried Blaise, “I never met with so many pleasant witches in my life as I have this evening; and there are several of them you see uncommonly pretty.”

 _“You_ are dancing with the only handsome witch in the room,” said Draco, looking at Luna.

“Oh! She is the most beautiful creature I ever beheld! But there is one of her friends sitting down just behind you, who is very pretty, and I dare say very agreeable. Do let me ask my partner to introduce you.”

“Which do you mean?” and turning round he looked for a moment at Hermione. Upon catching her eye, he withdrew his own and coldly said, “I know Miss Granger; she works at the Auror office. She is tolerable, for a Muggle-born that is, but I am in no humor at present to give consequence to young witches who are slighted by other wizards. You had better return to your partner and enjoy her dreamlike smiles, for you are wasting your time with me.”

Blaise followed his advice. Draco walked off, and Hermione remained with no very cordial feelings toward him. She told the story, however, with great spirit among her friends; she had a lively, playful disposition, which delighted in anything ridiculous.

Later that evening, Luna begged Hermione to change her views of her interest’s best friend, and bade her join their party in conversation. As they walked across the room, Luna could not help cautioning her in a whisper not to be a simpleton, and allow her highly speculated fancy for Ron to make her appear unpleasant in the eyes of a man ten times his consequence. Hermione made no answer, and took her place in the group’s circle, amazed at the dignity to which she was arrived in being allowed to stand opposite to Draco, and reading in Pansy’s looks, equal amazement in beholding it.

Pansy eyed her with distaste in a look that all but commented aloud regarding her blood status, and made her excuses to go find Theo. Blaise and Luna made happy conversation, punctuated by simple and short replies from the other two. When a waltz was announced, Blaise and Luna took their leave to join the dancers.

Hermione and Draco stood for some time without speaking a word; and she began to imagine that their silence was to last until one of them had an excuse to take their leave as well, and at first was resolved not to break it; till suddenly fancying that it would be the greater punishment to oblige him to talk, she made some slight observation on the dance. He replied, and was again silent. After a pause of some minutes, she addressed him a second time with: “It is your turn to say something now, Mr. Malfoy. I talked about the dance, and you ought to make some sort of remark on the size of the room, or the number of couples.”

He smiled, and assured her that whatever she wished him to say should be said.

“Very well. That reply will do for the present. Perhaps by and by I may observe that private balls are much pleasanter than public ones. But _now_ we may be silent.”

“Are you like your weird and free-spirited friend or do you talk by rule?”

“Sometimes one must speak a little, you know. It would look odd to be entirely silent; and yet for the advantage of some, conversation ought to be so arranged, as that they may have the trouble of saying as little as possible.”

“Are you consulting your own feelings in the present case, or do you imagine that you are gratifying mine?”

“Both,” replied Hermione archly, “for I have always seen a great similarity in the turn of our minds. We are each of an unsocial, taciturn disposition, unwilling to speak, unless we expect to say something that will amaze the whole room, and be handed down to posterity with all the brilliance of a proverb.”

“This is no very striking resemblance of your own character, I am sure,” said he. “How near it may be to _mine,_ I cannot pretend to say. _You_ think it a faithful portrait undoubtedly.”

“I must not decide on my own performance.”

He made no answer, and they were again silent till another round of dancers swirled by, when he asked her if she enjoyed her research work in the Auror Office. She answered in the affirmative, and, unable to resist the temptation, added, “Perhaps if you had been there yesterday, you would have been assigned the latest case involving the illegal trade of cursed four-leaf clovers. As it stands, Auror Weasley and I have been assigned as partners.”

The effect was immediate. A deeper shade of hauteur overspread his features, but he said not a word, and Hermione, though blaming herself for her own weakness, could not go on. At length Draco spoke, and in a constrained manner said, “Mr. Weasley is blessed with such happy bravery as may ensure his catching Dark Wizards—whether he may be equally capable of _retaining_ partners is less certain.”

“I have heard that he has been so unlucky as to lose _your_ partnership,” replied Hermione with emphasis, “and in a manner which he is likely to suffer for the rest of his career.”

Draco did not deign to answer, and seemed desirous of changing the subject.

“I have quite some expertise in dealing with the fair folk, and I confess my surprise that the assignment did not go to me,” he said staunchly. “Tell me, how goes your case?”

“Little has passed thus far,” she admitted. “I have yet to delve into the appropriate research and only know the bare essentials of the case. I’ve spoken with Miss Luna Lovegood,” she paused with a happy smile as she looked at Luna and Blaise dancing, “as she is an expert in finding rational explanations when the situation is irrational to all others.”

The latter part of this address was scarcely heard by Draco; but Hermione’s allusion to her friend seemed to strike him forcibly, and his eyes were directed with a very serious expression towards Blaise and Luna, who were dancing together. Recovering himself, however, shortly, he turned to Hermione, and said, “The mention of your _fanciful_ friend has made me forget what we were talking of, for I worry that Zabini has so attached himself to her."

“I do not think we were speaking at all. The mention of my _dear_ friend could not have interrupted two people in the room who had less to say for themselves. We have tried two or three subjects already without success, and what we are to talk of next I cannot imagine.”

“What do you think of books?” said he, smiling.

“Books, oh! No. I am sure we never read the same, as I prefer _Muggle_ authors.”

“I am sorry you think so; but if that be the case, there can at least be no want of subject. We may compare our different opinions on the opposing styles of wizards and Muggles.”

“No, only one prejudiced and ignorant of both _styles_ would believe them to be of opposing natures,” she replied, without knowing what she said, for her thoughts had wandered far from the subject, as soon afterwards appeared by her suddenly exclaiming, “I remember hearing you once say, Mr. Malfoy, that you hardly ever associated with those inferior to yourself, that your resentment once created was unappeasable. You are very cautious, I suppose, as to its _being created.”_

“I am,” said he, with a firm voice.

“And you think you have never allowed yourself to be blinded by prejudice?”

“I hope not.”

“It is particularly incumbent on those who never change their opinion, to be secure of judging properly at first.”

“May I ask to what these questions tend?”

“Merely to the illustration of _your_ character,” said she, endeavoring to shake off her gravity. “I am trying to make it out.”

She shook her head. “I do not get on at all. I hear such different accounts of you as puzzle me exceedingly.” _For what,_ thought Hermione, _was Draco Malfoy, the renowned prejudiced pure-blooded scion, doing entertaining a conversation with a Muggle-born witch?_

She said no more, and they parted in silence; and on each side dissatisfied, though not to an equal degree, for in Draco’s breast there was a tolerable powerful feeling towards her, which soon procured her pardon, and directed all his anger against another.


	6. The First Proposal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Numbers in [brackets] denote footnotes, which you will find at the end of the chapter.

Several days after the ball, Hermione was hard at work researching possible ways to curse a four-leaf clover. Since they were typically charmed objects, she felt that discerning how they were somehow being cursed would give her a clue as to the identities of the culprits.

“Perhaps I should research similarly charmed objects as a baseline,” she whispered to herself, writing a reminder on a piece of parchment. She tapped her quill against her lips and tried to think of other areas of investigation to explore.

She was jolted from her reverie by the arrival of Ronald Weasley.

“Careful there,” Ron said with a grin, “you don’t want to muck up your lips with that hideous blue ink.” He was the happy man towards whom almost every female eye was always turned, and Hermione was the happy woman by whom he finally visited; and the agreeable manner in which he immediately fell into conversation, though it was the middle of the workday, made her feel that the commonest, dullest, most threadbare topic might be rendered amusing by the skill of the speaker.

Hermione blushed at his continued witticisms, but then creased her brow.

“Where have you been, Ron?” she asked. “I began work on the research days ago.”

“Out chasing down leads, my dear,” he replied quickly.

“Oh, of course,” she said, embarrassed to have questioned his work ethic. “Did you discover anything?”

“Not yet, but I’m sure that I will.” He sighed. “They haven’t harmed any Muggles yet, thank Merlin. The testimony from the victims is nearly identical. The witch or wizard is outside and feels compelled to grab a four-leaf clover from a patch.” 

Hermione had read as much in her research of the existing cases.

“I’ve spoken extensively with the victims and their healers. The most usual symptom is the appearance of a lump of salt on the neck, which has grown larger in the most recent cases. The healers are referring them as “bad luck pustules”, because they spread bad luck to anyone who touch them. Patients since the beginning have had fever and chills, sore throats, that type of thing.”

“Are those symptoms of the curse becoming more severe as well?” asked Hermione.

“Yes,” said Ron wide-eyed. “How did you know that?”

“My research into _charming_ four-leaf clovers shows that the spells can become more powerful the more frequently they are practiced by the caster.”

“Makes sense, I guess. The simple maladies that were treatable with standard healing potions and spell removals have progressed into severe magical illnesses.[2] I don’t have much experience with the fair folk, so questioning the victims seemed to be the best course of action.”

Hermione was very willing to hear him, though what she chiefly wished to hear she could not hope to be told—the history of his acquaintance with Draco Malfoy. She dared not even mention that wizard. Her curiosity, however, was unexpectedly relieved. Ron began the subject himself. He inquired how she had enjoyed the ball; and, after receiving her answer, asked in a hesitating manner how long she and Mr. Malfoy were on speaking terms.

“Since he joined the Auror office,” said Hermione; and then, unwilling to let the subject drop, added, “Perhaps it would do to ask Auror Malfoy about this case. Not only is he the usual lead on cases involving the fair folk, but he has extensive knowledge of the Dark Arts.”

“Of course he has knowledge of the Dark Arts,” Ron spat, “if not for his family’s wealth and willingness to bribe Ministry officials, he would be rotting in Azkaban as we speak.”

“Indeed!”

“Yes, my personal grievance against him isn’t quite as dark, but it was just as dastardly. Our seventh year, I found out that Draco had involved himself with some underground dark artifact dealers, ones too shaded to conduct business even at Borgin and Burkes. I went to him to offer my help in getting untangled from those degenerates, since we are technically cousins distantly related on my father’s side. He was embarrassed to accept my assistance and therefore refused; however, I later found out that he had been using _my name_ in his dealings with the smugglers. He tricked me into accepting the blame for his misdeeds, and now I have a mark against me on my permanent record. If it wasn’t for our friendship with Harry, I would never have been able to become an Auror.”

“This is quite shocking! I had no idea the extent of his behavior. He deserves to be publicly disgraced.”

Ron laughed loudly and heartily. “Some time or another he will be, but it shall not be by me.”

Hermione honored him for such feelings, and thought him more handsome than ever as he expressed them.

“I had not thought Mr. Malfoy so bad as this, and though never hearing any evidence directly from him, I have always surmised his dislike of Muggle-borns such as myself. Until now, I had not thought so very ill of him. I had supposed him to be despising his fellow-creatures in general, but did not suspect him of descending to such malicious revenge, such injustice, such inhumanity as this. Perhaps if we—”

“Hermione,” Ron interrupted, “Forget this talk of Malfoy, it does no good to one’s constitution. I was wondering if I could speak to you on another serious matter of some importance, and I solicit you for the honor of a private audience. Shall we adjourn to the tea room?”

Hermione noticed him pulling a small jewelry box out of his coat pocket as they walked together to the small break area. As he walked ahead of her, she closed the door behind them. He turned at once.

“You can hardly doubt the purport of my discourse, however your natural delicacy may lead you to dissemble; my attentions have been too marked to be mistaken. Almost as soon as I met you at Hogwarts, I singled you out as the companion of my future life.”

The idea of Ron, with his lackadaisical attitude, being serious about his feelings, made Hermione so near laughing, that she could not use the short pause he allowed in any attempt to stop him further, and he continued:

“Firstly, I am convinced that marriage will add very greatly to my happiness; and secondly—which perhaps I ought to have mentioned earlier, that it is the particular advice and recommendation of my mother. Many times has she condescended to give me her opinion on this subject; and it was but the very Saturday night before I left the Burrow for the ball, that she said, ‘Ron, you must marry. Choose properly, choose a witch for my sake; and for your own, let her be an active, useful sort of person, not brought up high, but able to make a small income go a good way. I think you should choose Miss Hermione Granger. This is my advice.’ So you already know she finds you acceptable, though naturally, I will require you to retire from the Auror department and your career once we wed.”

It was absolutely necessary to interrupt him now.

“You are too hasty, sir,” she cried. “You forget that I have made no answer. Let me do it without further loss of time. Accept my thanks for the compliment you are paying me. I am very sensible of the honor of your proposals, but it is impossible for me to do otherwise than to decline them.”

“Nonsense,” replied Ron, with a formal wave of his hand. “You, Harry, and I have been the closest of friends for years. Naturally, since you harbor no secret feelings to our mutual friend—a good thing too since he married my sister—you and I are destined to be together.”

“But—”

“Do you deny this is the supposition of everyone that we marry?”

“No—”

“Then we are engaged,” he said, smiling. He placed the ring on her finger and patted her hand. Ron then made a vague reference to being needed elsewhere and took his leave.

Truthfully, Hermione had always assumed that she and Ron would marry at some point in the future, but now that this future was upon her... she wasn't so sure. Plus, she was unsettled at the idea of leaving her beloved career behind.

However, Ron was one of her closest friends. She did love him.

Perhaps, it was best that they did marry. She had heard many a time that friendship was the best basis for the respect necessary in marriage.

Later that evening, she decided to invite her closest friend over the next day to discuss her apprehensions, and therefore sent Luna an owl to that purpose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [2] J.K. Rowling addressed disability and illness within the Wizarding World and how it differentiates from Muggles. She decided that, broadly speaking, wizards would have the power to correct or override problems of a ‘mundane’ nature but not ‘magical’ nature. http://www.buzzfeed.com/ariellecalderon/illness-and-disability-within-wizarding-world


	7. Miss Luna Lovegood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Numbers in [brackets] denote footnotes, which you will find at the end of the chapter.

The next day, Luna came over a full hour before the socially acceptable time for receiving visitors, but Hermione made no comment. To Luna, time was an arbitrary and whimsical notion.

“When exactly does the day end?” Luna had asked one day when questioned about this belief. “Is it when the moon comes out while the sun is still up? What if there is no moon? Is it when the sky turns pink and purple, and, if so, then what is the exact shade? No, time is an illusion, and to wizarding kind doubly so.”[3]

This was why Hermione loved Luna so very much. Luna’s wit and wisdom were beyond measure, so much so that her reasoning was often elusive; however, Luna nearly always came out ahead in reasoning with her dream-like ways.

“So you are engaged to Mr. Weasley,” stated Luna matter of factly, whilst the two witches worked together on their separate needlework projects.

“I suppose,” said Hermione. “Maybe.”

“Well,” said Luna, “according to the banns posted in this morning’s _Daily Prophet,_ you are.” She set aside her stitching to reach into her reticle, then she held out the paper.

“What!” cried Hermione, snatching the news sheets from her friend’s grasp.

Mr. and Mrs. Arthur Weasley are pleased to announce the upcoming marriage of their son, Mr. Ronald Bilius Weasley, to Miss Hermione Jean Granger, daughter of Muggles. The couple’s engagement comes as no surprise to friends and family.

“Daughter of Muggles!” hissed Hermione. “This is not to be endured. My parents are Muggles, but they have names!”

“As all parents likely do,” said Luna, “but technically this wording is also correct.”

“I... I honestly have no words to describe my anger,” said Hermione.

“Are you angry at the younger Mr. Weasley?” asked Luna.

“Heavens, no,” said Hermione, “this is obviously the work of his mother. She has been most persistent on an engagement between the two of us. She likely had the wording of the announcement ready the moment he came home and told her that I said yes.”

“Oh,” said Luna, “you said yes then.”

“Well, not exactly.”

“How very odd,” replied Luna, turning back to her embroidery.

They were then interrupted by the arrival of a proud looking snowy white owl carrying a letter in its beak.

“What a lovely owl,” said Luna. The owl, apparently understanding the diminutive blonde, made a slight bow. Luna curtsied in return, and the owl hooted back at her in pleasure.

Luna took the letter while Hermione gave the bird a small treat. Luna then read aloud to Hermione.

>  _MY DEAR FRIEND,_
> 
> _Our mutual friend, Blaise Zabini, has talked of nothing but your description of the elusive nargles you are so sure live in the gardens of Malfoy Manor. If you are not so compassionate as to dine today with us, Lady Malfoy and I shall be in danger of hating each other for the rest of our lives, for a whole day’s sermon from a secondhand source can never end without a quarrel. Come as soon as you can on receipt of this, provided you wish to discuss magical beasts and where to find them._
> 
> _Yours ever,  
>  _PANSY PARKINSON__

 __

“Oh, how wonderful,” said Luna, “Blaise is showing an interest in nargles, and he’s quite right.”

__

“Right about what?” asked Hermione.

__

“The Malfoy Manor’s garden is known for their magnificent silver birches,” said Luna dreamily, “which usually have mistletoe attached. As you know, mistletoe is often infested with nargles.”

__

Hermione was saved the necessity of asking what nargles were by the arrival of Ron and Harry, who had come to luncheon. Luna flitted about the kitchen, happy to visit Blaise and discuss the nargles with him again. When she finally left, she was practically dancing out the door, twirling and humming happily. Harry seemed amused to see their friend so happy while Ron rolled his eyes at the idea of Luna visiting a group of Slytherins in their den.

__

“The very idea of visiting that place is nothing but bad luck, indeed!” said Ron more than once, as if he had never had a bad thing to say about the Malfoy family before. Till the next morning, however, he was not aware of the foreboding of his contrivance. Luncheon, once again hosted at the Granger household, was scarcely over when a house-elf from Malfoy Manor brought the following note to Hermione:

> __MY DEAREST ‘MIONE,__
> 
>  _
> 
> _I find myself very unwell this morning, which, I suppose, is to be imputed to my getting cursed by a four-leaf clover when we were searching for nargles, as they are known lately to infest clover patches, as you know. My kind friends will not hear of my returning till I am better. They also insist on my seeing Healer Jones, therefore do not be alarmed if you should hear of his having been to me, and, excepting a sore throat and headache, there is not much the matter with me._
> 
> _Yours, etc._
> 
> _

“Well, my dear,” said Ron, when Hermione had read the note aloud to the group, “if your friend should have a dangerous fit of illness, if she should die, it would be a comfort to know that it was all in the pursuit of finding nargles.”

__

Harry and Ginny both frowned. “No one is afraid of her dying,” said Harry quickly, looking at Hermione. “Witches do not die of little mischievous curses. She will be taken good care of. As long as she stays there, it is all very well.”

__

Hermione, feeling really anxious, was determined to go to her; however, the wards surrounding Malfoy Manor prevented her from Apparating, thus, walking was her only alternative. She declared her resolution.

__

“How can you be so silly?” cried her fiancé, “as to think of such a thing, visiting that ferret’s home! They despise Muggle-borns. You will not be fit to be seen when you get there.”

__

“I shall be very fit to see Luna, which is all I want,” said Hermione as she set off.

__

Hermione walked alone, crossing field after field at a quick pace in order to avoid any clover, jumping over stiles and springing over puddles with impatient activity, and finding herself at last within view of the manor, with weary ankles, dirty stockings, and a face glowing with the warmth of exercise.

__

She was shown into the morning parlor, where all but Luna were assembled, and where her appearance created a great deal of surprise. That she should have walked three miles so early in the day, in such dirty weather, and by herself, was almost incredible to Lady Malfoy and Pansy; and Hermione was convinced that they held her in contempt for it. She was received, however, very politely by them, and in Blaise's manners there was something better than politeness—there was good humor and kindness. Draco said very little, and Lord Malfoy nothing at all. The former was divided between admiration of the brilliancy which exercise had given to her complexion, and doubt as to the occasion justifying her coming so far alone. The latter was thinking only of his breakfast.

__

Her inquiries after her friend were not very favorably answered. Luna had slept ill, and though up, was very feverish, and not well enough to leave her room. Hermione was glad to be taken to her immediately, and Luna, who had only been withheld by the fear of giving alarm or inconvenience from expressing in her note how much she longed for such a visit, was delighted at her entrance. She was not equal, however, to much conversation due to the lump of salt around her throat, and when Pansy left them together, could attempt little besides expressions of gratitude for the extraordinary kindness she was treated with. Hermione silently attended her.

__

When breakfast was over they were joined by Pansy, and Hermione began to like the other witch herself, when she saw how much affection and solicitude she showed for Luna. The healer came, and having examined his patient, said, as might be supposed, that she had caught a violent curse, and that they must endeavor to get the better of it; he advised her to return to bed, and promised her some potions. The advice was followed readily, for the feverish symptoms increased, and her head ached acutely. Hermione did not quit her room for a moment, nor were the other ladies often absent; the gentlemen being out, they had, in fact, nothing to do elsewhere.

__

When the clock struck three, Hermione felt that she must go, and very unwillingly said so. Lady Malfoy offered her the carriage, and she only wanted a little pressing to accept it, when Luna testified such concern in parting with her, that Lady Malfoy was obliged to convert the offer of the chaise to an invitation to remain at Malfoy Manor for the present. Hermione most thankfully consented, and a house-elf was dispatched to the Burrow to acquaint the Weasleys with her stay and bring back a supply of clothes.

__

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [3] Quote adapted from Douglas Adams.


	8. Mr. Blaise Zabini

The next day, Luna was still very poorly, perhaps even worse than before, and Hermione would not quit her at all till late in the evening, despite the risk of being contaminated with bad luck. When she had the comfort of seeing Luna sleep, and when it seemed to her rather right than pleasant, she went downstairs.

On entering the drawing-room she found the whole party playing Exploding Snap, and was immediately invited to join them; but suspecting them to be playing high she declined it, and making her friend the excuse, said she would amuse herself for the short time she could stay below, with a book. Lady Malfoy looked at her with astonishment.

“Do you prefer reading to cards?” said she; “that is rather singular.”

“Miss Hermione Granger,” said Pansy snidely, “despises cards. She is a great reader to which she owes her cleverness, and has no pleasure in anything else.”

“I deserve neither such praise nor such censure,” cried Hermione; “I am a great reader, but I have pleasure in many things. But really Miss Parkinson. Books! And cleverness! There are more important things, like friendship and bravery.”

“Spoken like a foolhardy Gryffindor,” said Lord Malfoy. He looked down his nose at the Muggle-born witch, and Hermione decided at that moment that she despised him as much as his son.

“Her friendship with Miss Lovegood is to be praised,” cried Blaise, coming to her defence. “It is amazing to me how young witches can have patience to be so very kind as they all are.”

“All young witches are kind! My dear Blaise, what do you mean?”

“He would list the common extent of kindness,” drawled Draco. “The word is applied to many a witch who deserves it no otherwise, so I am very far from agreeing with you in your estimation of witches in general. I cannot boast of knowing more than half-a-dozen, in the whole range of my acquaintance, that are truly kind.”

“Nor I, I am sure,” said Pansy.

“This must be a Slytherin failing,” observed Hermione.

The wind could be heard rattling the branches of nearby trees outside.

Then almost as one voice, Lady Malfoy and Pansy both cried out against the injustice of her implied doubt, and were both protesting that they knew many Slytherin witches who answered this description, when Lord Malfoy called them to order, with bitter complaints of their inattention to what was going forward. As all conversation was thereby at an end, Hermione soon afterwards left the room.

Hermione passed the night in her friend's room, and in the morning had the pleasure of being able to send a tolerable answer to the inquiries which she very early received from Blaise by a house-elf, and some time afterwards from the elf who waited on young Malfoy. 

The day passed much as the day before had done. Blaise had spent some hours of the morning with the invalid, who continued, though slowly, to mend; and in the evening Hermione joined their party in the drawing-room. Draco was writing, and Lady Malfoy, seated near him, was watching the progress of his letter and repeatedly calling off his attention asking him to leave his _work_ for another time. Lord Malfoy and Blaise were playing Wizard’s Chess, and Pansy had gone to visit her fiancé, Theodore Nott.

Hermione took up some needlework, and was sufficiently amused in attending to what passed between Draco and his mother. The perpetual commendations of the lady, either on his handwriting, or on the evenness of his lines, or on the length of his letter, with the perfect unconcern with which her praises were received, formed a curious dialogue, and was exactly in union with her opinion of each.

“How I wish you were writing a letter to Miss Astoria Greengrass!”

He made no answer.

“You write uncommonly fast.”

“You are mistaken. I write rather slowly.”

“How many letters of business you must have occasion to write in the course of a year! How odious I should think them!”

“It is fortunate, then, that they fall to my lot instead of yours.”

“I am afraid you do not like your quill. Let me mend it for you. I mend quills remarkably well.”

“Thank you—but I am long old enough to mend my own.”

She was finally silent.

After an awkward pause, Hermione tried to lighten the mood by mentioning that Healer Jones had given his consent for Luna to move her convalescence to her own home.

Blaise heard with real sorrow that they were to go so soon, and repeatedly tried to persuade Hermione that it would not be safe for her—that she was not enough recovered; but Hermione was firm by conveying that Luna herself felt it to be right.

Draco ceased his business correspondence, for it was welcome intelligence—Hermione had been at Malfoy Manor long enough. She attracted him more than he liked—and his parents were uncivil to her, and more annoying than usual to himself. He wisely resolved to be particularly careful that no sign of admiration should now escape him, nothing that could elevate her with the hope of influencing his felicity; sensible that if such an idea had been suggested, his behavior during the last day must have material weight in confirming or crushing it. Steady to his purpose, he scarcely spoke ten words to her through the whole of the day, and though they were at one time left by themselves for half-an-hour, he adhered most conscientiously to his book, and would not even look at her.

The separation, so agreeable to almost all, took place. Lady Malfoy's civility to Hermione increased very rapidly, as well as her affection for Luna; and when they parted, after assuring the latter of the pleasure it would always give her to see her at Malfoy Manor, and embracing her most tenderly, she even shook hands with the former. Hermione took leave of the whole party in the liveliest of spirits. She and Luna were granted the Malfoy’s thestral drawn carriage for their journey back to the Lovegood home.

Soon after their return, a letter was delivered via owl to Luna; it came from Malfoy Manor. The envelope contained a sheet of elegant, hot-pressed parchment, well covered with a lady's fair, flowing hand; and Hermione saw her friend’s countenance change as she read it, and saw her dwelling intently on some particular passages. Luna recollected herself soon, and putting the letter away, tried to join with her usual cheerfulness in the general conversation; but Hermione felt an anxiety on the subject; and a glance from Luna invited her to follow in a turn about the garden. When they were alone, Luna, taking out the letter, said:

“This is from Pansy Parkinson, who returned to Malfoy Manor after we left; what it contains has surprised me a good deal. Mr. Zabini has left the manor by this time, and is on his way to Italy—and without any intention of coming back again.”

Luna reached out to grab Hermione’s hand.

“It is evident by this,” added Luna, “that he does not feel affection for me.”

“It is only evident that Miss Parkinson does not mean that he _should_ come back to England.”

“Why will you think so? He is his own master and could have written me himself. But you do not know _all._ I _will_ read you the passage which particularly hurts me. I will have no reserves from _you.”_

> _Mr. Zabini is impatient to see his mother. I really do not think Jezabella Zabini has her equal for beauty, elegance, and accomplishments; and the affection she has for her only son is an inspiration for us all. We hope and dare to entertain of her finding a witch worthy of our dear Blaise. I do not know whether I ever before mentioned to you my feelings on this subject; but I trust you will not esteem them unreasonable. Our circle of friends admire Sig.ra Zabini greatly already; her son will have frequent opportunities of finding a wife in his home country. With all these circumstances to favor a match, and nothing to prevent it, am I wrong, my dearest Luna, in indulging the hope of an event which will secure the happiness of so many?_

“What do you think of this sentence, my dear ‘Mione?” said Luna as she finished it. “Is it not clear enough? Does it not expressly declare that Pansy neither expects nor wishes me to be with her friend; that she is perfectly convinced of Blaise’s indifference; and that if she suspects the nature of my feelings for him, she means most kindly to put me on my guard? Can there be any other opinion on the subject?”

“Yes, there can; for mine is totally different. Will you hear it?”

“Most willingly.”

“You shall have it in a few words. Miss Parkinson sees that her friend is in love with you, and wants his mother to find another prospective wife. She is trying to persuade you that he does not care about you.”

Luna shook her head. “Can I be happy, even supposing the best, in accepting a man whose friends are all wishing him to marry another witch elsewhere?”

Hermione represented to her friend as forcibly as possible what she felt on the subject, using her own engagement as a topic of encouragement, and had soon the pleasure of seeing its happy effect. Luna's temper was not desponding, and she was gradually led to hope, though the diffidence of affection sometimes overcame the hope, that Blaise would return to England and answer every wish of her heart.


	9. Some Dreadful News

Hermione had been a good deal disappointed in not finding a letter from Ron during her stay at Malfoy Manor; and this disappointment had been renewed on her first day back at home.

She had just paid her respects to her father and mother and had returned to her bedroom, when she saw the emerald green light of someone traveling by Floo light up her fireplace. Mrs. Ginny Potter stumbled out, knocking off the ash and soot from her robes in an agitated manner.

“Merciful Merlin! What is the matter?” cried Hermione with more feeling than politeness, then recollecting herself. “Let me call a maid. Is there nothing you could take to give you present relief? A glass of wine; shall I get you one? You are very ill.”

“No, I thank you,” Ginny replied, endeavoring to recover herself. “There is nothing the matter with me. I am quite well; I am only distressed by some dreadful news which I have just received from the Burrow.”

After saying this, Harry stumbled out of the fireplace as well. Upon seeing his wife so distressed, he immediately tended to her, only to be shaken off.

 _“I_ must tell her,” said Ginny. Harry gave Hermione a sympathetic look and sat down on a nearby chaise.

Ginny burst into tears as she alluded to something, and for a few minutes could not speak another word. Hermione, in wretched suspense, could only say something indistinctly of her concern, and observe her in compassionate silence. At length Ginny spoke again. “I have just had a letter from Mama, with such dreadful news. It cannot be concealed from anyone. My brother, your intended, has left all his family, his friends, and his career—he has eloped, has thrown himself into the clutches of—of that annoying Miss Lavender Brown. They are gone off together to Gretna Green. You know him too well to doubt the rest. He has abandoned you.”

“He has abandoned us all,” added Harry.

Hermione was fixed in astonishment. She glanced at the ring on her finger, calmly took it off, and then placed it on the mantle.

“Please see that your mother gets this,” said Hermione as if in a trance. “I believe it was she who picked it out at Magorian Jewelers for me.”

“Oh, Hermione,” cried Ginny, “my brother has behaved abominably to you! Please know that my family has sided with you as a victim of this. I was surprised when Ron agreed so easily with my mother’s suggestion to your match, but I believed that the two of you were such good friends and that all was well. Wretched, wretched mistake!”

Hermione made no answer. She seemed scarcely to hear her, and was walking up and down the room in earnest meditation, her brow contracted, her air gloomy. Harry and Ginny watched her with anxious eyes.

Finally, she quit her pacing. Head up, she turned to face them and locked her gaze with Harry’s.

“You will need to assign another Auror to the clover case. That must be my priority now. Luna is ill and unlikely to recover unless we can undo the curse. I will allow myself some period of time after we save her to mourn the loss of my intended and my dignity.”

“I will take up the case myself,” said he.

“I would suggest Draco Malfoy,” said Hermione. “By chance I was able to see the thoroughness of his work while at Malfoy Manor. He has experience with the fair folk and is also well versed in the Dark Arts.”

“Just so,” said Harry, “he has a predilection towards harassing you.”

“I would work with him,” said Hermione firmly. “He is the best chance to save Luna, and any possible arguments will only serve to distract me from my failed engagement.”

Ginny sat down, unable to support herself. “You are an extraordinary witch, Hermione. Ron was a fool to let you go.”

Harry laughed. “She is the brightest witch of our age. I have no doubt that this humiliation will soon be but a glimmer in her eye.”

“Thank you, Harry,” said Hermione. “And thank you, Ginny. Please pay my respects to your family. I hope I will see them soon despite this unpleasantness, for I harbor no ill will to anyone.”

Ginny hugged Hermione tightly, and then the Potters took their leave.

That afternoon, unable to stay at her home for a moment longer, Hermione decided to go to Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor.

She needed chocolate, her waistline be damned—not that she would ever have said such a grievous thing out loud. She decided upon a large chocolate and raspberry flavored ice cream with chopped nuts and went to sit outside at a small table. She was licking her spoon discreetly yet in an unladylike way when she heard the clearing of a throat. She saw on looking up that Theodore Nott was standing across from her.

Theo had been her potions partner many times during their school days. They had always gotten on well. Putting away the bowl immediately and forcing a smile, she said:

“I did not know before that you ever came here for a treat.”

“I have been taking a turn through the shops,” he replied, “as I generally do every week. A brisk constitutional always leaves me famished.”

“Please feel free to join me,” said Hermione politely.

“I have never broken bread with a Mud—Muggle-born witch before,” he said slowly, not reacting to Hermione’s wince. “However, I think it prudent to change my attitude to be in league with the times. I am honored for the invitation.”

As Theo spoke he observed Hermione looking at him earnestly.

“You need not be frightened. I may have a Muggle mother and father, but I assure you that I do not bite."

The joke was lost on Theo, who paled.

Hermione changed the subject.

“Have you heard from Mr. Zabini?” she asked, for Luna’s sake. “He and your mutual friend Mr. Malfoy seem such good friends. Malfoy is uncommonly kind to Zabini, and takes a prodigious deal of care of him.”

“Care of him! Yes, I really believe Draco does take care of him in those points where he most wants care. From something that he told me the other evening, I have reason to think Blaise very much indebted to him. But I ought to beg his pardon, for I have no right to suppose that Blaise was the person meant. It was all conjecture.”

“What is it you mean?”

“It is a circumstance which Draco could not wish to be generally known, because if it were to get round to the witch’s family or friends, it would be an unpleasant thing.”

“You may depend upon my not mentioning it.”

“And remember that I have not much reason for supposing it to be Blaise. What he told me was merely this: that he congratulated himself on having lately saved a friend from the inconveniences of a most imprudent marriage, but without mentioning names or any other particulars, and I only suspected it to be Blaise from believing him the kind of young man to get into a scrape of that sort, and from knowing them to have been so much in each other’s company since Draco moved out of the Manor.”

“Did Mr. Malfoy give you reasons for this interference?”

“I understood that there were some very strong objections against the witch.”

“And what arts did he use to separate them?”

“He did not talk to me of his own arts,” said Theo, smiling. “He only told me what I have now told you.”

Hermione made no answer, and sat quietly as Theo talked on other subjects, mainly his upcoming wedding to Miss Parkinson, while Hermione’s heart swelled with indignation.

* * *

Draco Malfoy had been slightly peeved when the latest big case had been assigned to Ronald Weasley. He had worked hard, _very_ hard, to get to his current position in the Auror department, while Weasley had just slid on Harry Potter’s coattails. He was sure that Weasley had insisted upon taking the case just to be utterly annoying, as usual.

He mulled over these thoughts while he went through his latest casework involving the fair folk. There were reports on banshees causing problems, ones that kept sneaking in from Ireland. Typically, the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures handled banshee hijinks, but repeat offenders in direct violation of licensed behavior were submitted to the attention of the Auror department. It was strange that so many fay from Ireland were being sent to his attention lately.

Except for the latest big case involving the cursed four-leaf clovers.

During these thoughts, Draco looked up to see that Harry was coming to his cubicle to meet with him.

 _Curious,_ thought Draco.

“Malfoy,” said Harry upon reaching Draco’s desk.

“Potter,” said Draco.

Neither spoke, and Draco smiled. He could win this game. Slytherins were known for their cunning. He would remain quiet until Harry broke the silence. It was a power play tactic Gryffindors were known to fall for.

Harry fell for it.

“Now that the pleasantries are over, Malfoy,” Harry said, pink cheeked, “I need to reassign you to another case.”

Draco raised an eyebrow.

“The cursed four-leaf clovers.”

“I thought you gave that to your _friend,_ Mr. Weasley.”

Harry’s ears turned as pink as his cheeks.

“Never mind that,” said Harry. “I need you to work with Miss Granger. Can I have your word of honor to treat her tolerably during such a partnership?”

“You don’t have to worry about me, Potter,” said Draco. “I was only a miserable git to many witches in my childhood. I haven’t said anything foolish or contemptible to Miss Granger since she was transferred to our department several months ago. I have no plans to revisit such behavior either.”

“Good,” said Harry, handing him a parchment. “Here is your authorization to work on the case.”

Draco opened it, and his eyes grew wide.

“Weasley has taken off without leave?”

“Yes,” said Harry through clenched teeth. “I also ask that you not mention his name to Herm—Miss Granger, if at all possible.”

“Not mention her fiancé?”

“He is no longer her fiancé.”

“Ah.” Draco smirked, steepling his fingers. “You can always trust my discretion.”


	10. A New Partnership

Hermione arrived the next day at the office as cool as a cucumber. She ignored the whispering stares and avoided the curious gazes of her fellow co-workers. She knew that _Witch Weekly_ had sensationalized the gossip surrounding Ron, Lavender, and herself. She saw more than one copy being stashed away in a drawer or hidden behind a back as she walked by to her cubicle.

Perhaps she should have stayed at home.

She looked for Auror Malfoy, knowing that Harry would have assigned the case to him yesterday.

She didn’t see him.

“No matter,” she whispered to herself. Hermione grabbed a purple sheet from the stack of interdepartmental memos, tersely scribed a quick note, folded it into a paper airplane, and sent it off.

The little airplane flew back within minutes. She opened it up.

>  _MISS GRANGER_
> 
> _Kindly look in the conference room before sending me another memo asking where I am._
> 
> _AUROR MALFOY_

Just as the note implied, Hermione found Draco in the Auror Office’s conference room, papers and parchments scattered in tidy piles on the large table, wizarding photos and maps tacked to the walls, and what appeared to be a timeline with dates scribbled on the board. Hermione was in awe of how much work had been accomplished in one day.

“Is this my research?” she asked, holding up a particular stack of parchments.

“Yes,” Draco replied, not even looking up but somehow giving her the courtesy of a bow. “I appreciate the background details you would follow up on from the crime scene statements, like the information on that new clerk at Borgin and Burkes that the witnesses mentioned in passing, for example. You have done a better than adequate job, Miss Granger.”

“I’ll endeavor to take that as a compliment.”

“Trust me, Miss Granger,” he drawled, finally looking at her, “coming from me, that meant I’ve practically just given you the Order of Merlin, First Class.”

Hermione couldn’t help it, she smiled.

“However, I must profess I find the rest of the work and even the direction of the rest of the casework to be completely senseless. The results of the legwork done so far is a large piece of skulduggery, and I’m itching to know how any competent review could have failed to understand this. I take it that this was not your work.”

“No, it wasn’t. And. Well... It was my understanding that progress report and case review was due later this week,” said Hermione flatly. “I was prepared on my end, but…” She stopped, unsure how to proceed.

“I see... Can we talk about the hippogriff in the chamber?” asked Draco.

“I have no idea what you are referring to, Mr. Malfoy.”

Draco smirked. “Don’t play coy with me, Miss Granger. How are you doing now that you have rid yourself of that tiresome Weasley oaf?”

“Do not speak of him that way.”

“As you wish,” Draco said as he stiffly nodded at her, although his expression suggested his opinion was somewhat less trenchantly set.

Hermione didn’t think he would refrain from bringing the subject up again, but was grateful he held his tongue for now. In truth, she was torn between defending Ron against his past tormentor and despising him for her humiliation.

Pushing aside such thoughts, she decided resolutely to funnel her attention to the case at hand and find a solution to the curse upon her dear friend.

So far, Draco had completed quite a bit of legwork. Hermione admired his ability to categorize the details of the case into manageable clusters of knowledge. He gave her a brief overview of his findings.

Convinced that this mysterious new clerk reportedly now at Borgin and Burkes was the key to solving the mystery, Draco asked Hermione to accompany him to the shop in Knockturn Alley.

“That section of Diagon Alley is no place for a lady,” she protested.

“I’ll be escorting you, Miss Granger, you’ll have nothing to fear.”

“That isn’t the point.”

“It is if you want to stay on _my_ team as part of this investigation.” He opened the door to the office with flourish and gave her a little bow.

“Infuriating man,” she muttered.

They left the Ministry of Magic by Floo to the Leaky Cauldron and from there travelled by foot. At last they appeared in front of a large, dilapidated building in filthy alleyway. Hermione had walked the last few blocks holding up her skirts and was annoyed that she had been exposing her ankles in a place like this. Mrs. Weasley would be appalled.

She turned her attention to the shop, remembering everything Harry had told her about the place.

“I haven’t been here in years,” Draco said, as if sensing her thoughts; however, Hermione assumed the statement was in no need of a response.

He held the door open for her. “After you, my lady.”

She sniffed at his chivalrous behavior, sure that he was up to something, and entered the shop.

A greasy man with rounded shoulders came out from behind a curtain that led to a back room.

“Ah, young Master Malfoy, what a ple—”

“I am now an Auror with the Ministry of Magic,” said Draco to Mr. Borgin. “This is Miss Granger. We are here on official business.”

The smile on the old man’s face disappeared.

“I see,” he said with narrowed eyes. “What service can I be to the Ministry today?”

“We’ve been looking into the illegal trade in cursed four-leaf clovers. My contacts tell me that you have a new clerk. Is he here?”

“Yes, but I assure you Mr.—Auror Malfoy that my establishment has nothing to do with illegal dealings. We may deal in dark artifacts, but I run a proper business. I don’t get involved with shady business, not anymore. You will find that not a single item in this shop is on the Ministry’s restricted list. If my clerk has anything to do with this, I will release him from my employ at once and without a reference.”

“I only want to speak with him, Mr. Borgin.”

“Of course,” the old man said in an oily voice. “Let me go and fetch him.” He disappeared behind the curtain.

“I don’t like him,” said Hermione in a soft voice, inching away from a severed hand in a display case.

“No one does,” Draco whispered back.

An odd looking man with elephant-like ears and a massive nose stepped out from behind the curtain. He wore heeled boots in the French style in an apparent attempt to compensate for his short stature. He eyed Hermione and Draco suspiciously before walking out from behind the counter.

“ ‘Eard ye was lookin’ for me, Sir.”

“Your name?” asked Draco.

“Blarney Stone, watcha’ want wit’ me?”

“Mr. Stone—”

“Stop,” said Hermione. Draco gave her an annoyed look. “Did you say your name was _Blarney_ Stone?”

“Aye.”

Hermione turned to Draco. “Be glad that you had a Muggle-born as a partner,” she said. The blonde wizard gave her a confused look. Hermione turned to the clerk. “ _The_ Blarney Stone is a stone that, according to Muggle legend, you kiss to be granted with the gift of gab.” She pulled out her wand. “Flattery,” she said in the disapproving tone of a magizoologist who had identified a new species of Grindylow. Keeping her eyes on the clerk, she tilted her head to Draco. “Trust nothing that he says.”

Draco pulled his wand out as well. “Who are you really?”

The little man scratched his chin with one hand and pointed a finger with the other. “Calm yerself now, calm yerselves!”

 _“Finite Incantatem,”_ said Draco, waving his wand with a complicated little movement.

The little man’s head began to grow, and his boring brown robes began to shimmer. His face sprouted a bushy red beard, and a green buckled Derby hat appeared on top of his head that was held up by pointed ears. He was now wearing a coat and britches over white stockings.

“Damn,” the now mischievous looking little man said.

“He’s a leprechaun,” said Draco.

The leprechaun smiled and reached into his coat pocket, pulling out a four-leaf clover. He held it out towards Draco, who seemed transfixed by it. The leprechaun began walking backwards, heading outside. Draco followed mutely after him.

“That’s right,” the leprechaun said, setting the clover down on the ground, “pick it up now. Ye know ye want to.”

Hermione could see that Draco was shaking to control himself, she turned to stop the leprechaun from whatever it was that he was doing, but Draco held out an arm in front of her.

“Resist his _Imperio_!” shouted Draco. “Don’t look directly at the clover!” The wizard was now clutching his skull in both hands, using all his Occlumency training to defend his mind against the leprechaun’s attempts at penetration.

Hermione knew that Draco could only resist for so long and so she readied a spell. She pointed her wand at the roof above the nearby building. “ _Reducto!_ ” A blue light shot straight up, and shingles exploded as they were hit. The debris tumbled down towards the three of them below.

She ran forward and pushed Draco underneath an archway.

“Merlin, Granger,” snarled Draco as he regained his footing, “try not to kill us while trying to catch him, if you would be so kind.”

“You’re welcome,” she snapped back at him, brushing shingle dust off of her face.

The leprechaun screeched and hissed as he struggled to get out from under the rubble. Scrambling backwards, he retreated as Draco and Hermione advanced together with their wands drawn.

“There is no way out,” said Draco coldly. “You are under arrest. Give yourself up and come back with us peaceably, or we’ll be forced to _Stupefy_ you.”

The leprechaun sneered at them but took off his hat and made a supplicating gesture. Draco and Hermione kept their wands raised, despite the fact that he appeared to be cooperating.

As it turns out, he wasn’t.

Suddenly, the leprechaun reached into his hat and withdrew a handful of shiny gold coins, throwing them into the air towards the two of them.

 _“PROTEGO!”_ cried Hermione. An invisible shield appeared around herself and Draco, but the coins flew straight through it. Several of the coins struck the both of them, despite trying to jump out of the way at the last second.

“Can’t stop these!” sang the leprechaun, “these be my _lucky_ gold coins.” He began dancing a strange little jig. Draco raised an eyebrow and looked at Hermione, clearly not understanding the little man’s behavior.

“You gave us extra luck in catching you?” asked Hermione incredulously. She looked down where she had felt the gold coin strike her on the arm and noticed an odd little glow wrapping itself around her wrist.

“Noooo,” the leprechaun taunted as he hopped from one foot to the other.

Draco was about to _Stupefy_ the annoying creature when Hermione stepped between them. He blinked, wondering why there was a strange green mist surrounding her. He raised his wand, trying to step around the witch, and noted the glowing aura around himself as well. The leprechaun forgotten, Draco inspected his hands.

Hermione stepped up even closer to him; they were practically nose to nose.

“Miss Granger,” he said, “what are y—”

Then, quite unexpectedly, and in a most forward manner, she was kissing him.


	11. LEMONS

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: This chapter is nothing but lemony smut. If this isn’t something you care to read, then skip straight on to Chapter Eleven. You won’t miss out on any of the plot by doing so.

Draco had only a second in which he could have stopped the kiss, but he was of course too shocked initially to react like a proper gentleman. For, in the blink of an eye, it was suddenly so... serendipitous to be kissing Miss Granger.

Her soft pink lips tasted of warmth and strawberries, and, when she opened her mouth for him, he found the sensation almost dizzying. His tongue met hers, and they began gently dueling until it was no longer a tender kiss. It became hungry and desperate, full of need and the whispers of secret longings. Draco pulled her closer to him, running his hands through her carefully arranged hair and dislodging the pins that held her wild curls in place.

The small moan she made as he continued to devour her nearly undid him like a third year school boy. He abandoned all thoughts of how their shared passions were simply the work of the deranged leprechaun’s charmed coins.

He didn’t care.

He simply wanted her.

Hermione could tell the moment Draco ceased holding back on her. The glowing green mist engulfed them completely now, evanescencing off their skin in pulsing waves with each breath. He moaned against her mouth, pulling away to trace his lips along her jaw and down the curve of her neck. She pulled away.

“Not here,” she whispered, “Mal—Draco, we need to find... we must go someplace else.”

Draco didn’t need to be told twice. He wrapped Hermione tightly in his arms, pulling her close to his chest, and Apparated them from the alley directly into his bedchamber on the second floor of his flat in Diagon Alley.

She swayed slightly, feeling addled from Side-Along Apparition. It took a second to regain control, and Hermione turned to smile at Draco when she once again was steady on her feet.

He smirked back at her and resumed kissing the witch, while his hands were busy, first with removing her cloak and then with the buttons on the back of her gown. One. Two. Three. Four. Once the gown was undone halfway down her back, he eased away and let it fall down to her waist. Hermione kicked it off while Draco made short work of her stays, yanking at the ties of the undergarment.

Groaning, Draco dragged his mouth from hers to look at the fullness of her breasts revealed under the cotton fabric of her shift. His hands moved up to cup them, and with a light tug he was able to see them fully.

“Merlin,” he whispered hungrily and latched onto one.

“Mmm,” she responded.

It was the last either of them said. Draco lifted her legs over his hips and carried her to the bed, throwing her on it with little ceremony. Her shift was bunched up around her waist, and he yanked it the rest of the way off of her body. Then, he practically ripped off her pantalettes and threw them to the floor, leaving her naked except for her stockings. He was pleased to see that the ribbons holding them up were green.

Hermione leaned back on her elbows without feeling the need for modesty and stared up at him through half-lidded eyes. Her eyes roamed over his body, lean from years of playing Quidditch. Draco stood tall as he untied his cravat, for he knew he cut a fine figure of a man. She noticed that his previously silver gray eyes had darkened as he too looked her over, but his gaze was much more predatory.

Once undressed, he climbed back on top of her and resumed suckling at her breast. Hermione was writhing underneath him. When she moved her hips against him, he made a sound of approval. His hands moved downward over her belly towards an ache that he mercilessly skimmed over as he tightened his grip on her thighs to push her legs open.

Having released the one nipple with an audible pop, his mouth was repeating the same actions on her other breast. Her hands lightly tugged at his tousled blonde hair, but then suddenly gripped in clenched fists as his hands finally moved _there._ His fingers were parting, stroking, probing, and pumping into her wetness, bringing her desire to a boil.

It was too much.

It wasn’t enough.

Hermione arched up against his hand, begging for release. Wordlessly and wantonly, she pulled at his hips, sure that her nails would leave crescent shaped marks on his buttocks. There was no stopping what was about to happen, and neither of them would stop it now, even if they could.

Finally, his weight was on her and as he came up into her with one sharp thrust, she felt him reaching the deepest, most secret spot inside her. She swore she could feel him reach her womb. Hermione lifted her legs and twined them about his. She heard his breathing turn harsh. Draco built up speed, pistoning harder and harder until she could take no more and had to break the silence.

“Draco,” she begged, _“please._ Oh— ah!”

“Yes,” he said, his face buried in her curls. “Oh, yes. Oh, yes.”

Together, they found completion. Hermione felt a spurt of warmth as he spilled his seed inside her. He partially collapsed on top of her, held up only by his elbows. Hermione smiled up at him lazily, and then he rolled off her, already starting to fall asleep.

Noticing the green mist had vanished and no longer surrounded them, she wondered what he would say if she mentioned the leprechaun’s lucky coins, but also wondered if the coins made any difference to anything.

Curling up against him, she drifted off into sated dreams before she could decide whether or not to mention it to him before he too fell asleep.


	12. The Morning After

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Numbers in [brackets] denote footnotes, which you will find at the end of the chapter.

Waking from the most wonderful dream and then wincing from the bright morning light streaming through the window, Hermione slowly lifted her head.

She immediately regretted that mistake. Her head spinning, or perhaps it was the room spinning, she groaned and tried to grab a pillow to put it over her head to stop the sun’s rays from assaulting her eyes, but she couldn’t move her arm.

Another arm was holding her down, preventing her from moving.

A muscular and definitely _male_ arm.

Eyes wide and too shocked to cry out in surprise, she turned to see exactly whose body was attached to that arm.

As she somehow suspected, Draco Malfoy, his naked torso rising and falling gently and in time with his soft snores, was lying next to her. He had scratch marks on his shoulders and arms, and there were love bites all over his chest.

 _Oh, merciful Merlin!_ thought Hermione. _What have I done?_

Then the memories of last night came back to her and she gasped. _It hadn’t been a dream!_ At the sound, Draco’s eyes flew open, and he sat up straight. Hermione sat up as well, inching away from him and then grabbing the green silk sheet to her chest as she realized her own nakedness.

Draco was staring at her, twin pink spots appearing on his pale cheeks and surprise in his eyes. Unable to maintain eye contact, she turned at looked straight ahead, blinking every few seconds and at a distinct disadvantage in her ability to form any coherent words.[4]

After what seemed several moments to Hermione, he spoke. “I believe,” he said bluntly, “it would be in our best interests if I went to get us some tea.” Without waiting for a reply, Draco leaned over, grabbed a dressing gown from the end of the bed, and hastily donned it. He stood, gave her an awkwardly stiff bow, and left the room.

Hermione, finally coming to grips with the circumstances, realized that she had bedded the bête noire of her existence. No thought was given to how... vigorously... _no, she mustn’t think that way_... he had performed. She needed to find her clothing and her wand, preferably in that order, and get out of this flat as quickly as possible.

While settling this point, she was suddenly roused by the sound of the door opening, and her spirits were a little fluttered by the idea of its being a house-elf come to inquire after her. But this idea was soon banished, and her spirits were very differently affected, when, to her utter amazement, she saw Draco walk into the room. In a hurried manner, he immediately began to set up the tea, asking if she would like him to pour. She answered him with cold civility. He sat down for a few moments, and then getting up, walked about the room. Hermione was surprised, but said not a word. After a silence of several minutes, he came towards her in an agitated manner, and thus began:

“In vain I have struggled. It will not do. Our sexual chemistry will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you.”

Hermione’s astonishment was beyond expression. She stared, colored, and was silent. This he considered sufficient encouragement; the avowal of all that he felt, and had long felt for her, immediately followed. He spoke well, but there were feelings besides those of the heart to be detailed. His sense of her blood’s inferiority—of its being a degradation—of the Muggle-born obstacles which she had miraculously overcome, were dwelt on with a warmth which seemed due to the consequence he was wounding, but was very unlikely to recommend his suit.

In spite of her deeply-rooted dislike, she could not be insensible to the compliment of such a wizard’s lust, and though her intentions did not vary for an instant, she was at first sorry for the pain he was to receive; till, roused to resentment by his subsequent language, she lost all compassion in anger. She tried, however, to compose herself to answer him with patience. He concluded with representing to her the strength of that attachment which, in spite of all his endeavors, he had found impossible to conquer, and expressed his hope that it would now be rewarded by her acceptance of his hand. As he said this, she could easily see that he had no doubt of a favorable answer. He spoke of apprehension and anxiety, but his countenance expressed arrogant confidence.

“In such cases as this, it is, I believe, the established mode to express a sense of obligation for the sentiments avowed; however, I am not one of your pureblooded ladies. I have never desired your good opinion, and you have certainly bestowed it most unwillingly on someone you should view as, how did you say it, ah yes, _undeserving.”_

Draco, who was leaning against an ornately carved bedpost with his eyes fixed on her face, seemed to catch her words with no less resentment than surprise. His complexion became even more pale than usual with anger, and the disturbance of his mind was visible in every feature. He was struggling for the appearance of composure, and would not open his lips till he believed himself to have attained it. At length, with a voice of forced calmness, he said:

“And this is all the reply which I am to have the honor of expecting! I might, perhaps, wish to be informed why, with so little endeavor at civility, I am thus rejected. But it is of small importance.”

“I might as well inquire,” replied she, “why with so evident a desire of offending and insulting both myself and my heritage, you chose to tell me that you liked me against your will, against your reason, and even against your supposed good breeding? Was not this some excuse for incivility, if I was uncivil? But I have other provocations. You know I have. Had not my feelings decided against you—had they been indifferent, or had they even been favorable, do you think that any consideration would tempt me to accept the man who has been the means of ruining, perhaps forever, the happiness of a most beloved friend?”

As she pronounced these words, she stood away from the bed, naked, as she searched for her chemise. Draco changed color; but the emotion was short, and he listened without attempting to interrupt her while she continued as she yanked the shift over her head:

“I have every reason in the world to think ill of you. No motive can excuse the unjust and ungenerous part you acted there. You dare not, you cannot deny, that you have been the principal, if not the only means of dividing them from each other—of exposing one to the censure of the world for caprice and instability, and the other to its derision for disappointed hopes, and involving them both in misery of the acutest kind.”

She paused, and saw with no slight indignation that he was listening with an air which proved him wholly unmoved by any feeling of remorse. He even looked at her with a smile of affected incredulity.

“Can you deny that you have done it?” she repeated.

With assumed tranquility he then replied: “I have no wish of denying that I did everything in my power to separate my friend from yours, or that I rejoice in my success. Towards him I have been kinder than towards myself.”

“But it is not merely this affair,” she continued, “on which my dislike is founded. Long before it had taken place my opinion of you was decided. Your character was unfolded in the recital which I received from Ronald Weasley. On this subject, what can you have to say? In what imaginary act of friendship can you here defend yourself? Or under what misrepresentation can you here impose upon others?”

“You take an eager interest in a gentleman who treated you most abominably,” said Draco, in a less tranquil tone, and with a heightened color.

“Regardless,” cried Hermione with energy. “You have sabotaged the advantages which you knew would have been for him. You have deprived the best years of his life of that independence which was no less his due than his dessert. You have done all this! And yet you can treat the mention of his misfortune with contempt and ridicule.”

“And this,” cried Draco, as he walked with quick steps across the room, “is your opinion of me! This is the estimation in which you hold me! I thank you for explaining it so fully. My faults, according to this calculation, are heavy indeed! But perhaps,” added he, stopping in his walk, and turning towards her, “these offenses might have been overlooked, had not your pride been hurt by my honest confession of the scruples that had long prevented my forming any serious design. These bitter accusations might have been suppressed, had I, with greater policy, concealed my struggles, and flattered you into the belief of my being impelled by unqualified, unalloyed inclination; by reason, by reflection, by everything. But disguise of every sort is my abhorrence. Nor am I ashamed of the feelings I related. They were natural and just. Could you expect me to rejoice in the inferiority of your connections?—to congratulate myself on the Muggleness of your birth, whose condition in life is so decidedly beneath my own?"

Hermione felt herself growing more angry every moment; yet she tried the utmost to speak with composure when she said:

“You are mistaken, Mr. Malfoy, if you suppose that the mode of your declaration affected me in any other way, than as it spared me the concern which I might have felt in refusing you, had you behaved in a more gentlemanlike manner.”

She saw him start at this, but he said nothing, and she continued:

“You could not have made the offer of your hand in any possible way that would have tempted me to accept it.”

Again his astonishment was obvious; and he looked at her with an expression of mingled incredulity and mortification. She went on:

“From the very beginning—from the first moment on the Hogwarts Express, I may almost say—of my acquaintance with you, your manners, impressing me with the fullest belief of your pure-blooded arrogance, your conceit, and your selfish disdain of the feelings of others, were such as to form the groundwork of disapprobation on which succeeding events have built so immovable a dislike; and I had not worked closely with you a month before I felt that you were the last man in the world whom I could ever be prevailed upon to marry.”

“You have said quite enough, madam. I perfectly comprehend your feelings, and have now only to be ashamed of what my own have been. Forgive me for having taken up so much of your time, and accept my best wishes for your health and happiness.”

And with these words he hastily left the room, and Hermione heard him the next moment open the front door and quit the flat.

Hermione hastily finished dressing, grabbed her wand, and Apparated home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [4] This scene was inspired by CaptBexx’s Morning After, which unfortunately I can’t link to since she took it off of her DeviantArt page. You can probably still find it by using Google.


	13. The Letter

Hermione awoke the next morning to the same thoughts and meditations which had at length closed her eyes. She could not yet recover from the surprise of what had happened; it was impossible to think of anything else; and, totally indisposed for employment, she resolved, soon after breakfast, to indulge herself in air and exercise.

She had turned to go outside; but on hearing the sound of wings flapping, she moved towards the open window. The same regal looking owl who had sent Pansy’s missives to Luna had by that time reached the windowsill, and proudly held out a letter. Hermione instinctively took the offered envelope, yet with a forced look of haughty composure. Then, with an arrogantly dismissive nod of its head and not waiting for a treat, the bird took off, and was soon out of sight.

With no expectation of pleasure, but with the strongest curiosity, Hermione perceived an envelope containing two sheets of parchment, written quite through, in a very close hand. It was dated from Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire, at eight o'clock in the morning, and was as follows:

>  _MISS GRANGER,_
> 
> _Be not alarmed, madam, on receiving this letter, by the apprehension of its containing any repetition of those sentiments or renewal of those offers which were yesterday morning so disgusting to you. You must pardon the freedom with which I demand your attention; your feelings, I know, will bestow it unwillingly, but I demand it of your justice._
> 
> _Two offenses of a very different nature, and by no means of equal magnitude, you laid to my charge. The first mentioned was, that, regardless of the sentiments of either, I had detached Mr. Zabini from your friend, and the other, that I had, in defiance of various claims, in defiance of honor and humanity, ruined the immediate prosperity and blasted the career prospects of Mr. Weasley. But from the severity of that blame which was yesterday so liberally bestowed, respecting each circumstance, I shall hope to be in the future secured, when the following account of my actions and their motives has been read._
> 
> _I had not been long at the Ministry’s Annual Victory Celebration Ball, before I saw, in common with others, that Blaise preferred Miss Lovegood to any other young witch. But it was not till she was cursed and remained at Malfoy Manor that I had any apprehension, for knowing of her proclivity towards absent minded behavior, I was certain that this consequence would likely have a repeat occurrence, should this particular curse not end her life. Therefore, I endeavored to smother Blaise’s affections, thus sparing him the agony of developing feelings for a flighty witch destined to meet an untimely end. By the time I realized my error, it was too late to affect any undoing of the scheme. Mr. Zabini had been quite separated from Miss Lovegood, both in distance and affection. Though I did so without malice, my actions have surely pained your friend, and your newly found resentment has not been unreasonable. To be fair, you were tortured in my mother’s formal drawing room by my aunt, and long have had reason to resent me._
> 
> _With respect to that other, more weighty accusation, of having injured Mr. Weasley, I can only refute it by laying before you the whole of his connection with me. Of what he has particularly accused me, I am ignorant; but of the truth of what I shall relate, I can summon more than one witness of undoubted veracity._
> 
> _Mr. Weasley is the son of a somewhat respectable man, who had for many years the management as Head of the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office. The good conduct of his elder brothers naturally inclined me to be of service to him, and my kindness was therefore liberally bestowed. However, it is many, many years since I first began to think of him in a very different manner. The vicious propensities—the want of principle, which he was careful to guard from the public knowledge, could not escape the observation of a young man of nearly the same age with himself, and who had opportunities of seeing him in unguarded moments. How I wish you knew what I did before your engagement to him._
> 
> _During our seventh year at Hogwarts, it came to my attention that Mr. Weasley got involved in underhanded dealings with the wrong crowd, of whom I discovered to have been Egyptian antique smugglers based out of Knockturn Alley. In deference to his father and brothers, I paid 1,000 Galleons to help him out of that most unsavory situation; however, as it turns out, Mr. Weasley hadn’t wanted my assistance or my gold. It is my belief that he was embarrassed, and his resentment was in proportion to the distress of his circumstances. He was doubtless as violent in his abuse of me to others as in his reproaches to myself. After graduation every appearance of acquaintance was dropped. How he lived I know not. But last summer he was again most painfully obtruded on my notice._
> 
> _I must now mention a circumstance which I would wish to forget myself, and which no obligation less than the present should induce me to unfold to any other wizard or witch. Having said thus much, I feel no doubt of your secrecy. My friend, Miss Pansy Parkinson, now engaged to Mr. Theodore Nott, was then scorned by Mr. Weasley after our graduation. He made it clear that, while she was good enough to bed in secret, she was still a Slytherin. As such, her house rendered her ineligible for matrimony._
> 
> _You may possibly wonder why all this was not told you yesterday morning; but I was not then master enough of myself to know what ought to be revealed. For the truth of everything here related, I can appeal more particularly to the testimony of Mr. Theodore Nott, who, from our near relationship and constant intimacy, has been unavoidably acquainted with every particular of these transactions. If your abhorrence of me should make my assertions valueless, you cannot be prevented by the same cause from confiding in my cousin; and that there may be the possibility of consulting him, I shall endeavor to owl this letter to you. I will only add, Merlin bless you._
> 
> _DRACO LUCIUS MALFOY_

Hermione’s feelings as she read were scarcely to be defined. With a strong prejudice against everything he might say, she read with an eagerness which hardly left her power of comprehension, and from impatience of knowing what the next sentence might bring, was incapable of attending to the sense of the one before her eyes. His belief of her friend's insensibility she instantly resolved to be false; and his account of the real, the worst objections to the match, made her too angry to have any wish of doing him justice. He expressed no regret for what he had done, which satisfied her; his style was not penitent, but haughty. It was all pride and insolence.

She grew absolutely ashamed of herself. Of neither Draco nor Ronald could she think without feeling she had been blind, partial, prejudiced, and absurd.

“How despicably I have acted!” she cried; “I, who have prided myself on my discernment as the brightest witch of my age! I, who have valued myself on my abilities! Who have often disdained the generous candor of my friend, and gratified my vanity in useless or blameable mistrust! How humiliating is this discovery! Yet, how just a humiliation! Had I been in love, I could not have been more wretchedly blind! But vanity, not love, has been my folly. Pleased with the preference of one, and offended by the neglect of the other, on the very beginning of our acquaintance, I have courted prepossession and ignorance, and driven reason away, where either were concerned. Till this moment I never knew myself.”


	14. The Otter

Draco was back in the conference room at the Auror headquarters, studying his notes. He was in a most ill-tempered mood, and his disposition was dreadful.

“None of this makes any bloody sense,” he said to no one. He threw the parchments back down on the table, knocking off a folder. As he reached down to pick up the papers, he realized that he held an unrelated case file, one that had to be put aside because of the high priority of the clover case.

Deciding now was a good a time as any to take a break, Draco took the folder back to his desk. He had just finished putting it away when he noticed another case file next to the blotter. He felt drawn to it.

“The banshee file,” he muttered, hand poised to pick it up. “Still..."

 _Where had all the banshees from Ireland gone?_ he wondered. Draco had read all of the reports of how they had come to England, assuming that they were hiding. However, he still wondered _why_ they were here.

“To follow the leprechaun?” he asked himself.

It was an odd but intriguing train of thought. Banshees were fairies in the form of wailing women who appeared to foretell death. Would the cursed four-leaf clovers cause death? Draco knew that they hadn’t yet caused such a tragic worriment, but the symptoms of the curse were getting stronger. He wondered if the banshees expected the need to wail and cry because of the actions of one of their fellow fae.

His mood lightened. Perhaps his luck had changed and something would finally happen without some deplorable deficiency today.

* * *

Hermione had walked into the Ministry building with calm resolution. She had walked from the lifts and down the corridors with growing trepidation. Then she entered the Auror Headquarters with awkwardness.

She had been certain that Draco would have requested a change in partner from Harry but had received no owl bearing such news, nor was there a missive stating this at her desk. Her astonishment at this lack of request was almost equal to what she had known after working with him so amicably during their current case. She turned a corner and saw him at his desk, smiling over a sheet of parchment.

The color which had been driven from her face returned for half a minute with an additional glow, and a smile of delight added luster to her eyes, as she thought for that space of time that his affection and wishes must still be unshaken. But, she would not be secure.

“Let me first see how he behaves,” said she.

She went to his cubicle and he received her with tolerable ease, and with a propriety of behavior equally free from any symptom of resentment or any unnecessary complaisance.

Draco, after inquiring of her how her research was progressing, a question which she could not answer without confusion, said scarcely anything. Then several minutes elapsed without bringing the sound of his voice; and when occasionally, unable to resist the impulse of curiosity, she raised her eyes to his face, she as often found him looking at the case files as at herself, and frequently on no object at all. More thoughtfulness and less anxiety to please, than when they last met, were plainly expressed. She was disappointed and angry with herself for being so.

Finally, he rose, told her he was looking into a new lead, gave her a bow, and took his leave. As soon as he was gone, Hermione walked back to the ladies powder room to recover her spirits; or in other words, to dwell without interruption on those thoughts that must deaden them more. Draco’s behavior astonished and vexed her.

“Why, if he kept me as a partner only to be silent, grave, and indifferent,” said she, “did he retain me as his researcher at all?”

She could settle it in no way that gave her pleasure.

* * *

Draco found the cave mentioned by a witness in the banshee’s case file. It was clear that the fae were gathering here. Slowly and stealthily, he crept into it, the moist earth beneath his feet dampening the sound of his footsteps. He followed the sound of distant wailing.

His thoughts kept wandering to Hermione, but Draco pushed the impulse to dwell on her down. Constant vigilance was, after all, most imperative in a situation like this.

After what seemed like an age of walking through endless twists and turns, he found the banshees. They were swirling above a pool of water at the bottom of a cavern, moaning piteously. Their tattered robes rippled in the air behind them. He stepped boldly into the undercroft and held out his wand. Instantly, the banshees ceased their cries and hovered where they were; the only movement was the gentle sway of their garments.

“I am Draco Malfoy, an Auror with the Ministry of Magic. I’ve come to discover the reason for your direct violation of licensed behavior.”

“Greetings, wizard,” they spoke as one, voices echoing off each other and the cave’s walls. “We come as messengers. We are harbingers. We know why you are here and the knowledge you seek. Gone will we be from this place when our task is complete.”

“Have you followed the leprechaun responsible for the cursed four-leaf clovers?”

“That was our sacred aim. That is the cause of our campaign. Know we not why this fae has fallen. His behavior is most uncommon.”

“There are witches and wizards who have become gravely ill because of him. What can be done?”

“You wish to heal? Then defeat us you will. Our wails merely foretell death. Yet, our tears give life new breath.”

Then they started swirling again around the cavern, but this time they flew faster. Their robes became darker, and their faces dissolved into something skeletal. Draco covered his ears as the wailing began again, growing louder and louder. Suddenly, the banshees turned as one and charged at him.

Draco did the first thing that occurred to him, as the banshees looked very similar to dementors at that moment.

 _“Expecto Patronum!”_ he cried. A bright silver light leapt from his wand, shining blindingly throughout the dark cave. His Patronus flew forth, attacking the banshees just like it would against dementors.

The banshees screamed, howling as if in terrible pain. They reached out towards him, their bony fingers clawing at the bright light. One by one they fell, each disintegrating into mist and raining down into the pool below.

The glow of his Patronus slowly faded, and Draco was left alone in the cave. His heavy breathing and heart rate took much longer to calm down than the speed of the light fading. Below him, the water in the pool glistened with a milky sheen, opalescent and reflecting a rainbow of colors on the stones surrounding it.

Again in control of his senses, he quickly climbed down the cavern’s wall to reach the water. When he reached the pool’s edge, he heard the multitude of voices once again.

“Now we travel back from whence we came. Take our tears, bring health to those the clover hath made lame.”

Draco reached down and picked up a rock, transfiguring it into a glass vial. He carefully filled the container, then created another vial, and then another. Once he had as many as he could carry, he carefully made his way back up the wall and left the cave. He would heal Luna Lovegood first.

After that, he would send Blaise an owl, asking him to come back to Britain and the witch whom Draco had convinced him to leave behind. He needed to right that wrong.

Arriving at St. Mungo’s, he hoped he had enough banshee tears to cure all of the victims. If not, then he would simply make another trip, and then another if necessary. Once those in immediate danger were seen to, it was time to catch this leprechaun once and for all.

He had so much to do.

It was only long afterwards that he wondered why his Patronus was now an otter.


	15. Lord Lucius Malfoy II

Less than a week later, during the Weasleys’ weekly bruncheon, as the family and Hermione were sitting together in the kitchen, their attention was suddenly drawn to the window by the sound of a carriage, and they perceived a chaise and four driving up the lawn. The thestrals were post, and neither the carriage, nor the livery of the servant who preceded it, were familiar to them. As it was certain, however, somebody was coming. The conjectures continued, though with little satisfaction, till the door was thrown open and their visitor entered. It was Lord Lucius Malfoy II.

He entered the room with an air more than usually ungracious, made no other reply to Hermione’s salutation than a slight inclination of the head, and sat down without saying a word. Hermione had mentioned his name to Mrs. Weasley on his lordship’s entrance, though no request of introduction had been made.

Mrs. Weasley, all amazement, though flattered by having a guest of such high importance, received him with the utmost politeness. After sitting for a moment in silence, he said very stiffly to Hermione,

“I hope you are well, Miss Granger. That lady, I suppose, is the Weasley matriarch and your patroness in the wizarding world.”

Hermione replied very concisely that she had been and still was despite the recent falling out with her son.

“And _those_ I suppose are her sons.”

“Yes, sir,” said Mrs. Weasley, delighted to speak to Lord Malfoy. “These are my sons, but one. My youngest of all is lately married.” Then, she begged his lordship to take some refreshment, but Lord Malfoy very resolutely, and not very politely, declined eating anything; and then, rising up, said to Hermione:

“Miss Granger, there seemed to be some a mockery of a garden on one side of this… _house._ I should be glad to take a turn in it, if you will favor me with your company.”

“Go, my dear,” cried Mrs. Weasley, unaware of the insult, “and show his lordship the rhododendron shrubbery. I think he will be pleased with bushes growing in the Burrow’s garden.”

Hermione obeyed, and they proceeded in silence along the gravel walk; she was determined to make no effort for conversation with a man who was now more than usually insolent and disagreeable.

“How could I ever think him like his son?” said she, as she looked in his face.

As soon as they entered the garden, Lord Malfoy began in the following manner:

“You can be at no loss, Miss Granger, to understand the reason of my journey hither. Your own heart, your own conscience, must tell you why I come.”

Hermione looked at him with unaffected astonishment.

“Miss Granger,” said his lordship, in an angry tone, “you ought to know that I am not to be trifled with. But however insincere _you_ may choose to be, you shall not find _me_ so. A report of a most alarming nature reached me. I was told that not only your closest friend was on the point of being most advantageously married, but that you, that Miss Hermione Granger, a _Muggle_ -born, would, in all likelihood, be soon afterwards united to my son, my own son, Mr. Malfoy. Though I _know_ it must be a scandalous falsehood, though I would not injure him so much as to suppose the truth of it possible, I instantly resolved on setting off for this place, that I might make my sentiments known to you.”

“If you believed it impossible to be true,” said Hermione, coloring with astonishment and disdain, “I wonder you took the trouble of coming so far. What could your lordship have proposed by it?”

“At once to insist upon having such a report universally contradicted.”

“Your coming to the Burrow, to see me and the Weasleys,” said Hermione coolly, “will be rather a confirmation of it; if, indeed, such a report is in existence.”

“If! Do you then pretend to be ignorant of it? Has it not been industriously circulated by yourselves? Do you not know that such a report is spread about?”

“I never heard that it was.”

“And can you likewise declare that there is no foundation for it?”

“I do not pretend to possess equal frankness with your lordship. You may ask questions which I shall not choose to answer.”

“This is not to be born. Miss Granger, I insist on being satisfied or I will hex you. Has he, has my son, made you an offer of marriage?”

“Your lordship declared it to be impossible.”

“It ought to be so; it must be so, while he retains the use of his reason. But your intelligence and allurements may, in a moment of infatuation, have made him forget his superior  pedigree and family obligations. You may have drawn him in with your underhanded Muggle charms.”

“If I have, I shall be the last person to confess it.”

“Miss Granger, do you know who I am? I was once a close follower of the Dark Lord himself, not to mention one of his most powerful servants. You yourself have fought me in battle. This is my son, and I am entitled to know all his dearest concerns.”

“But you are not entitled to know mine.”

“Let me be rightly understood. This match, to which you have the presumption to aspire, can never take place. No, never. My son is a pureblood, and you are nothing but Mudblood filth. Now what do you have to say?”

“Only this, that if he thinks as you do, you can have no reason to suppose he will make an offer to me.”

“Obstinate, headstrong witch! You are to understand, Miss Granger, that I came here with the determined resolution of carrying my purpose; nor will I be dissuaded from it. I have not been used to submit to any person’s whims. I have not been in the habit of brooking disappointment.”

 _“That_ > will make your lordship’s situation at present more pitiable, but it will have no effect on me.”

“I will not be interrupted. Hear me in silence. My son is descended, on the maternal side, from the noble and most ancient House of Black; and, on mine, from a respectable, honorable, and just as ancient wizarding family. The magical offspring on both sides is splendid. The upstart pretensions of a young witch from a _Muggle_ family without connections or fortune is not to be endured! If you were sensible of your own place in our society, you would not wish to quit the sphere in which you have been brought up.”

“In marrying your son, I should not consider myself as quitting that sphere. He is a wizard; I am a witch; so far we are equal.”

“Merlin and Morgana! Are the shades of Wiltshire to be thus polluted?” Lord Malfoy seethed. “Now tell me once and for all, are you engaged to my son?”

Though Hermione would not, for the mere purpose of obliging Lord Malfoy, have answered the question, she could not but respond after a moment’s deliberation. “I am not,” Hermione resentfully answered.

She stood tall, steeling herself against his satisfied reaction. “You have insulted me in every possible method and can now have nothing further to say. Now, I beg you take your leave.”

Lord Malfoy swept out of the gate without looking at her, till they were at the door of his thestral bound carriage, when, turning hastily round, he added, “I take no leave of you, Miss Granger. You deserve no such attention. I am most seriously displeased.”

Hermione made no answer, and without attempting to persuade his lordship to return into the house, walked quietly into it herself. She heard the carriage drive away as she proceeded to the Floo to go home, ignoring the questioning looks from the Weasley family.


	16. Some Wonderful News

The discomposure of spirits which this extraordinary visit threw Hermione into, could not be easily overcome; nor could she, for many hours, learn to think of it less than incessantly. Lord Malfoy, it appeared, had actually taken the trouble of this journey from Wiltshire, for the sole purpose of breaking off her supposed engagement with Draco.

In revolving Lord Malfoy's expressions, however, she could not help feeling some uneasiness as to the possible consequence of his persisting in this interference. From what he had said of his resolution to prevent their marriage, and how Draco might take a similar representation of the evils attached to a connection with her, she dared not pronounce.

She knew not the exact degree of Draco’s affection for his father, or his dependence on Lord Malfoy’s judgment, but it was natural to suppose that he thought much higher of his lordship than she could do. It was certain that, in enumerating the miseries of a marriage with one, whose immediate connections were so unequal to his own, his father would address him on his weakest side. With his possible lingering notions of pureblooded bigotry, he would probably feel that the arguments, which to Hermione had appeared filthy and undeserving, contained much twisted sense and outdated reasoning.

If he had been wavering before as to what he should do, which had often seemed likely, the advice and entreaty of so near a relation might settle every doubt, and determine him at once to be as happy as dignity unblemished could make him.

With these thoughts darkening her mind, she decided to quit her parents’ house and Apparated to the Lovegood home. When she arrived, she perceived her friend and Blaise standing together in the garden, as if engaged in earnest conversation; and had this led to no suspicion, the faces of both, as they hastily turned round and moved away from each other, would have told it all. Their situation was awkward enough; but hers she thought was still worse. Not a syllable was uttered by either; and Hermione was on the point of going away again, when Blaise, who as well as the other had sat down on a bench, suddenly rose, and whispering a few words to her friend, himself Apparated away.

Luna could have no reserves from Hermione, where confidence would give pleasure; and instantly embracing her, acknowledged, with the liveliest emotion, that she was the happiest creature in the world.

“Isn’t it wonderful? Mr. Malfoy wrote to Mr. Zabini, encouraging him to choose the witch that he and not his mother desired. Upon reading this advice, he came right away to see me. ‘Tis too much!” she added, “by far too much. I do not deserve it. Oh! Why is not everybody as happy?”

Hermione's congratulations were given with a sincerity, a warmth, a delight, which words could but poorly express. Every sentence of kindness was a fresh source of happiness to Luna. But she would not allow herself to stay with her friend, or say half that remained to be said for the present.

“I am certainly the most fortunate creature that ever existed!” cried Luna. “Oh! ‘Mione, why am I thus blessed above them all? If I could but see you as happy! If there were but such another wizard for you!”

“If you were to give me forty such wizards, I never could be so happy as you. Till I have your dreamlike disposition, your goodness, I never can have your happiness. No, no, let me shift for myself; and, perhaps, if I have very good luck, I may meet with another Ronald Weasley in time.”

Luna made a face, but said no more. Grabbing Hermione’s hand, she bade her come with to tell the wonderful news to her father.

* * *

The next morning, as Hermione was going downstairs, she was met by her father, who came out of his library with a letter in his hand.

“ ‘Mione,” said he, “I was going to look for you; come into my room.”

She followed him thither; and her curiosity to know what he had to tell her was heightened by the supposition of its being in some manner connected with the letter he held. It suddenly struck her that it might be from Lord Malfoy; and she anticipated with dismay all the consequent explanations.

She followed her father to the fireplace, and they both sat down. He then said,

“I have received a letter this morning that has astonished me exceedingly. As it principally concerns yourself, you ought to know its contents. I did not know before, that I had a daughter on the brink of matrimony. Let me congratulate you on a very important conquest.”

The color now rushed into Hermione’s cheeks in the instantaneous conviction of its being a letter from the son, instead of the father; and she was undetermined whether most to be pleased that he explained himself at all, or offended that his letter was not rather addressed to herself; when her father continued:

“You look conscious. Young ladies have great penetration in such matters as these; but I think I may defy even your sagacity, to discover the name of your admirer. This letter is from the Mr. Weasley.”

“From Ron! And what can he possibly have to say?”

“No,” said Mr. Granger, coloring slightly. “The letter came from his father, the elder Mr. Weasley.”

“Oh.”

“I shall not sport with your impatience, what relates to yourself, is as follows: ‘Your daughter Hermione, it is presumed, will not long bear the name of Granger, and the chosen partner of her fate may be reasonably looked up to as one of the most illustrious wizarding personages in this land.’ ”

Remembering her visit from Lord Malfoy at the Burrow, Hermione’s father must have been reading her thoughts at this point.

“ ‘My motive for writing is to caution you as follows. We have reason to imagine that his father, Lord Lucius Malfoy II, does not look on the match with a friendly eye.’ ”

“Pray read on, papa.”

“ ‘After mentioning the likelihood of this marriage to his lordship while at the Ministry, he immediately, with his usual condescension, expressed what he felt on the occasion; when it became apparent, that on the score of some family objections on the part of our beloved Hermione, he would never give her consent to what he termed so disgraceful a match. I thought it my duty to give the speediest intelligence of this to your daughter, that she and her noble admirer may be aware of what they are about, and not run hastily into a marriage which has not been properly sanctioned.’ Mr. Weasley moreover adds, ‘I am truly rejoiced that my son Ronald’s sad business has been so well hushed up, since I was greatly concerned on how this humiliation upon Hermione would render her unmarriageable.’ ”

“Oh!” cried Hermione, “how strange the wizarding world is!”

“Yes—that is what makes it amusing. Had they fixed on any other man it would have been nothing; but his air of superiority, and your pointed dislike, make it so delightfully absurd! I pray, ‘Mione, what said Lord Malfoy about this report? Your mother said you told her that his lordship called at the Burrow while you were there the other day.”

To this question his daughter replied only with a laugh; and as it had been asked without the least suspicion, she was not distressed by his repeating it. Hermione had never been more at a loss to make her feelings appear what they were not. It was necessary to laugh, when she would rather have cried. Her father had most cruelly mortified her, by what he said of Draco’s pureblood supremacy, and she could do nothing but wonder at such a want of penetration, or fear that perhaps, instead of his seeing too little, she might have fancied too much.


	17. Case Closed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Numbers in [brackets] denote footnotes, which you will find at the end of the chapter.

To Hermione’s great surprise, Draco came to her parents’ home in the non-magical part of London before many days had passed after Lord Malfoy’s visit. He proposed their walking out. For a long while, very little was said by either; Hermione was secretly forming a desperate resolution; and perhaps he might have been doing the same.

They walked towards the Leaky Cauldron and procured a table. Now was the moment for her resolution to be executed, and, while her courage was still high, she immediately said:

“Mr. Malfoy, I am a very selfish creature; and, for the sake of giving relief to my own feelings, deeply regret how I cared not how much I may have wounded yours. You showed kindness to my friend. Ever since I have known that, I have been most anxious to acknowledge to you how gratefully I feel it. I know that the couple thanks you as well.”

“If you will thank me,” he replied, “let it be for yourself alone. That the wish of giving happiness to you might add force to the other inducements which led me on, I shall not attempt to deny. But your friend and mine owe me nothing. Much as I respect them, I believe I thought only of you.”

Hermione was too much embarrassed to say a word. After a short pause, her companion added, “You are too generous to trifle with me. If your feelings are still what they were, tell me so at once. My affections and wishes are unchanged, but one word from you will silence me on this subject for ever.”

“My sentiments have undergone such a change as to mirror yours,” she said softly, feeling all the more than common awkwardness and anxiety of the situation.

A funny and most peculiar thing then happened.

The Honorable Draco Malfoy smiled.

He _genuinely_ smiled.

Hermione supposed that she had never seen any member of the Malfoy family smile before. Despite her change in feeling, the sight was slightly disconcerting. He stood and offered her his arm, and they walked on, without knowing in what direction. There was too much to be thought, and felt, and said, for attention to other objects.

She soon learnt that they were indebted for their present good understanding to the efforts of his father, who did call on Draco in his return through Diagon Alley, and there relate his journey to the Burrow, its motive, and the substance of his conversation with Hermione; dwelling emphatically on every expression of the latter which, in his lordship's apprehension, peculiarly denoted her perverseness and assurance; in the belief that such a relation must assist his endeavours to obtain that promise from his son which she had refused to give. But, unluckily for his lordship, its effect had been exactly contrariwise.

"It taught me to hope," said he, "as I had scarcely ever allowed myself to hope before. I knew enough of your disposition to be certain that, had you been absolutely, irrevocably decided against me, you would have acknowledged it to my father, frankly and openly."

Hermione colored and laughed as she replied, “Yes, you know enough of my frankness to believe me capable of _that.”_

“I cannot be so easily reconciled to myself. The recollection of what I then said, of my conduct, my manners, my expressions during the whole of it, is now, and has been many months, inexpressibly painful to me. Your reproof, so well applied, I shall never forget: ‘had you behaved in a more gentlemanlike manner.’ Those were your words. You know not, you can scarcely conceive, how they have tortured me—though it was some time, I confess, before I was reasonable enough to allow their justice.”

“Oh! Do not repeat what I then said. These recollections will not do at all. I assure you that I have long been most heartily ashamed of it.”

Draco mentioned his letter. “Did it,” said he, “did it soon make you think better of me? Did you, on reading it, give any credit to its contents?”

She explained what its effect on her had been, and how gradually all her former prejudices had been removed.

“Think no more of the letter,” she said afterwards. “The feelings of the person who wrote, and the person who received it, are now so widely different from what they were then, that every unpleasant circumstance attending it ought to be forgotten. You must learn some Gryffindor philosophy. Think only of the past as its remembrances give you pleasure.”

“As a Slytherin, painful recollections will intrude which cannot, which ought not, to be repelled. Though I can think of some remembrances that do indeed bring me pleasure.” He smirked; she blushed. Then he continued, much more somberly. “As a child, I was taught many things that were terrible wrongs. Unfortunately as an only son, I was spoilt by my parents, who almost taught me to be selfish and overbearing; to care for none beyond my own house; to think meanly of all the Muggle-borns and their kin. Such I was and such I might still have been but for you, dearest, loveliest Hermione! What do I not owe you! You taught me a lesson, hard indeed at first, but most advantageous. By you, I was properly humbled. I came to you without a doubt of my reception. You showed me how insufficient were all my pureblooded pretensions.”

“In that short time you went for tea, you had then persuaded yourself that I should?”

“Indeed I had. What will you think of my vanity? I believed you to be wishing, expecting my addresses. I find myself hoping for that now.”

He stopped and held both her hands.

Hermione's spirits soon rising to playfulness again, she wanted Draco to account for his having ever fallen in love with her. “How could you begin?” said she. “I can comprehend your going on charmingly, when you had once made a beginning; but what could set you off in the first place?”

“I cannot fix on the hour, or the spot, or the look, or the words, which laid the foundation. It is too long ago. I was in the middle before I knew that I _had_ begun.”

“My beauty you had early withstood, and as for my manners—my behavior to you was at least always bordering on the uncivil, and I never spoke to you without rather wishing to give you pain than not. Now be sincere; did you admire me for my impertinence?”

“For the liveliness of your mind, I did. You are the brightest witch of our age.”

“So I have heard.”

“Will you accept my suit this time?” he asked without the arrogance of his last proposal. His nervousness was given away by the slight grip that increased on her hands. “It comes to you old-fashioned and tarnished, but I think you are just the witch to make it shine. Miss Granger, I would consider it an honor to spend the rest of my life making you happy.”

“In that case, Mr. Malfoy,” she replied, “I will say yes.”

* * *

Together, the happy couple walked into the Auror offices, Hermione on Draco’s arm. There was a definite spring in their step, as if nothing could stop them.

Draco had just finished telling Hermione all about the banshees, their tears with healing powers, and his thoughts on capturing the leprechaun.

“Tell me, Hermione, did you happen to keep any of the leprechaun’s gold that struck us?”

Hermione blushed prettily.

“Indeed I did,” said she. “For one coin fell into my pocket that day. I only discovered it yesterday.”

Draco smiled triumphantly.

“Then together we’ll have no problem catching the little fiend,” he said, kissing her hand.

That afternoon at Draco’s insistence, Hermione watched from a nearby rooftop as Draco and several other Aurors, Harry included, placed the coin above a magical trap in the central courtyard of Gringotts. For safety’s sake, the wizards had smeared their exposed skin with the banshee tears, giving each of them a pale waxy glow.

They waited until nearly dusk, with no sign of the leprechaun. There was talk of returning to the Ministry; Hermione could see many of the Aurors, particularly those who had despised Draco in the past, dismissing his plan to catch the deranged fae.

 _“Arcus pluvius,”_ she whispered.[5] She waved her wand and then hid back in the shadows.

The Aurors were startled by sight of the sudden phenomenon, and as such, were almost unprepared for when the leprechaun appeared.

He popped into existence at the edge of the courtyard. Upon seeing the Aurors, he made a mad dash for the coin.

 _“Stupefy!”_ came the cry from at least eight Aurors at once.

The leprechaun froze mid-jump, his hand poised above the coin. The desperation in his eyes to once again possess his gold was palatable.

“I guess it wasn’t such a lucky coin after all,” said Draco, plucking it out from underneath the leprechaun’s grasp.

The Aurors unfroze and then shackled the leprechauns with magical chains as he shrieked and flailed his body about madly. Hermione stepped down to join them.

“I’ve never seen anything like it,” said Neville Longbottom, one of the Aurors. “Leprechauns are mischievous, but this one seems completely off balance.”

“He just might be,” said Hermione. “He will need special treatment if he is mentally ill. Will he be able to receive care for his derangement in Azkaban?”

“If not, then we will make it so,” said Harry.

“Miss Hermione Granger,” said Neville proudly, “always championing the underdog.”

“Even when she was harmed by him herself,” said Draco, looking directly into Hermione’s eyes.

“What is this?” cried Harry. “The leprechaun harmed you? Malfoy, how could you allow such a thing to happen? Hermione was under your care when she partnered with you. Just because I warned you not to mistreat her, did not mean that you could allow another to do so in your place!”

“Patience, Harry,” said Hermione. She looked at Draco. “I was not harmed, so be still. Truly, it was I who harmed him.”

“Never mind that,” said Draco to Hermione, “we have already put that behind us. Fear not, Potter. I would never allow harm to come to Miss Granger.”

Neville and Harry looked at the couple curiously, but asked no questions.

* * *

Mr. Kingsley Shacklebolt, the Acting Minister of Magic, used every bit of his political weight to publicly ensure that Draco received credit for solving the case. Reporters from the _Daily Prophet_ flocked to Draco, eagerly attempting to get details and quotes of the former Death Eater’s heroic work as an Auror. Draco, in turn, would credit Hermione for all of her research and assistance, complementing the witch on her bright mind and true worth as a partner.

At a ceremony Kingsley organized to honor Hermione and Draco, the pair made use of the presence of their friends and family, as of that of the press, to announce their engagement. Cheers came from all around, until there was one furious shout from the back of the ballroom.

“What?! You’re going to marry _that ferret!”_

The crowd turned and parted. There, in the entryway under the banner and streamers, was Ronald and Lavender Weasley. The former was red faced and had his fists clenched, the latter looking embarrassed and trying to inch away.

“Oh, Merlin,” muttered Hermione.

Draco only smiled.

“And what is this?” he continued to shout. “You’ve given credit for the case to Malfoy?! This was _my_ case.” He stormed across the crowded room to point a finger at Hermione. “I won’t let you marry him,” he declared with a snarl. “He’s likely only after your reputation as a war heroine to enhance his family’s image.”

“You are in no position to give me orders, Ron,” said Hermione.

“Face it, Weasel, you lost the case and more importantly the witch of every wizard’s dreams. Know this, her character may be greater than my own, but it only enhances my desire to be worthy of her. Take your yellow backed hide elsewhere.”

“How dare you, sir! I believe I must demand satisfaction for this,” Ron said, his voice tight with unrepressed anger and bruised dignity.

 _Merciful Merlin,_ thought Draco, _is the ginger-headed fool actually suggesting a wizard’s duel?_

“Find a seat and calm down, Ron,” said Harry, doing so himself. “Unless you want to embarrass both yourself and your new _wife_ with any amative claim you suppose that you still have regarding Hermione.”

“Soon to be the Honorable Mrs. Malfoy,” said Draco with his trademark smirk as he folded his hands casually behind his back.

“You’re not helping, Malfoy,” said Harry.

Lavender chose this moment to grab her husband’s arm, make quick apologies for his behavior, and hurriedly made him take their leave.

“This probably won’t be the only incident of someone making disparaging remarks about your upcoming nuptials,” said Harry sagely.

“Together, I believe we can handle anything,” said Draco, taking Hermione’s hand and kissing her fingertips. She smiled at her fiancé and nodded in affirmation.

How right he was.

For example, Lord Malfoy was extremely indignant on the marriage of his son; and as he gave way to all the genuine frankness of his character in his reply to the letter which announced its arrangement, he sent Draco language so very abusive, especially of Hermione, that for some time all intercourse was at an end. But at length, by Lady Malfoy’s persuasion, Draco was prevailed on to overlook the offense, and seek a reconciliation; and, after a little further resistance on the part of his father, his resentment gave way, either to his affection for Draco, or his curiosity to see how his son’s Muggle-born wife conducted herself; and he condescended to wait on them at Malfoy’s flat, in spite of that pollution which its walls had received, not merely from the presence of such a mistress, but the visits of her father and mother from the non-magical side of the city.

With the Zabinis, they were always on the most intimate terms. Draco, as well as Hermione, really loved them; and they were both ever sensible of the warmest gratitude towards the persons who, by finding each other, had been the means of uniting them.

\- _fin_ -

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [5] Latin for rainbow.


End file.
